Table Meeting
by RiddleRedCoats
Summary: At a turning point in their lives, Voldemort and Bellatrix examine the choices that had led them to where they are right now. A.K.A: Voldemort and Bellatrix relive all the times they had sex on that long table they use to host the Death Eater's meetings, and how (somehow) every important milestone in their decades-long affair seemed to happen around/on top that table.
1. Chapter 1

**Malfoy Manor, July 18th, 1997**

Voldemort barely contained a yawn as Thanatos Nott prattled on and on about whatever the hell was going on in the Department of Tourism, Sports and Entertainment that he had been running for the past 20 years. Gods, he hated these meetings. They were boring, long-winded but unfortunately necessary, because while he was hesitant – alright, fine completely fucking **adverse** – in sharing any details of his several running operations, he knew that at least his Inner Circle need to have at least an abstract idea of what was happening in the different parts of his movement.

As Thanatos was only **now **approaching the second part of his **ten-part** report – for the department of fucking Tourism, Sports and Entertainment, he reminded himself – Voldemort sneaked a look at a dreadfully bored-looking Bellatrix. Not only had she already seen the report this afternoon when one of Thanatos' lackeys had delivered it to his office, but Bellatrix cared as much for Nott's department as she did for Rodolphus newest female conquest. So, basically, nothing. She cared nothing for it.

Voldemort's mind wandered away from Bellatrix and the meeting to take in the new look of the room they found themselves in, it was clear that Narcissa had redecorated their meeting place after he had claimed that the bright colours of the room had hurt his eyes.

The room, which had previously been used as a second dining room, had changed from a subtle beige to dark, nearly black, brown. The drapes, formerly left open to let in the rare English sun were closed all day long giving the room a mouldy feel. More importantly, the dark oak table was back. It was a regular table, yes. Nothing particularly remarkable about it, at all; and Narcissa had only probably brought it out of wherever the hell she had kept it because it went well with the new décor. Still, this table held some significance to him.

To him **and** Bellatrix.

He then took another glance at the woman in question.

She was finally back. She had been gone for two weeks and had returned today. They had had a brief moment together before the beginning of the meeting, but they hadn't really been able to talk about why she been away…

Voldemort discreetly lowered his eyes from her face and down to her still-flat stomach. They had been having their affair for nearly 25 years and this was their second pregnancy scare. The first had been easy enough to deal with; she had been 28 and had dealt with it herself, not consulting him on her decision or anything, he had been angry that she hadn't talked to him and at first she had said that it was none of his business what she did with her body, but later she had claimed that she knew his answer: that while Dumbledore lived, any child of his would be postponed. He hated to admit it, but she had been right.

But now, Dumbledore was dead, and she was pregnant... It was almost too perfect a timing to be true. He had still been on a high when two days after Dumbledore's death she had come to him with the news. They **had **wanted this during the First War when things seemed to be going their way in 1980. And now, it had happened…

He had immediately started making plans, had been mid-way to calling a Healer when she had stopped him saying that he was on too high a mood to make a decision this big. She had left, with the promise to not do anything rash, so he could have a few days alone to think.

He had known the answer as soon as she left – even before, really – but had let her do things her way. She seemed… uneasy, about the whole thing.

Nott finally seemed to enter the juicy part of his report as other people leaned forward, finally interested in what he had to say. Voldemort for his part got lost in the memory of how exactly he and Bella had gotten to where they were and why exactly this damned table brought back so many memories.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, August 17th, 1973**

It was a nice, hot night. Perfect for the Annual Malfoy Summer Ball.

The Malfoy's ballroom was a grand piece comprised of high-ceilings and white walls decorated with silver trimmings, it excluded prestige, privilege, and ostentatious wealth… It was very Malfoy. But despite its enormous size, the room was full, almost stifling the guests if not for the open floor-to-ceiling windows that covered the entirety of the east wall of the room, and which led to the outside gardens, inviting the gentry of the Wizardry World to enjoy the warm evening… and enticing young lovers to use the famous labyrinth behind the Manor to conduct their illicit affairs.

Abraxas, dressed in white robes, smiled at people in the room as the ever-consummate politician he was, and his wife Catarina Malfoy also dressed in white, smiled demurely from his side. Their arms locked in a loose embrace as they walked and mingled with their guests, seemingly very much in love and a team.

Voldemort almost snorted at the scene. Abraxas and Catarina's marriage was… on the rocks, if one liked to understate. Abraxas was a known womanizer and Catarina's tastes ran towards the more… feminine side of things. It truly was the only thing they had in common… Well, women, money, **and** Lucius. It was wildly known and, in turn, wildly ignored by everyone in the typical style of the high-class. Much like his less than stellar family background.

Voldemort who had been leaning against the archway of one of the windows that led into the gardens was enjoying himself. A glass of wine in hand, a few flirting women around him, and a pureblood group waiting to be charmed by him before the first dance even started… He took in the people at the party and wondered where he should start, everyone was having a too good a time to be spoiled by politics just yet; and he couldn't really find his usual group because in typical Malfoy fashion there was a strict dress code where everyone had to be wearing white.

Well, everyone but him that is. He was wearing a black suit, complete with a black shirt and black tie. He hadn't completely ignored the dress-code however, and his suit had some white décor along the back… His short black hair was combed back with a few purposeful locks falling across his face, his hairstyle very much unlike the perfectly tied long hair of most men in the room. Well, he always did like to stand out.

A man dressed in an almost blinding white tunic approached Voldemort, much to his annoyance.

"Ahh, Riddle." Andrew Prewett greeted his former classmate.

"Prewett." Voldemort managed to grind out.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," Andrew smiled easy, "I know you go by Gaunt these days, right?"

"Yes." Voldemort answered. He had other plans, but for now Gaunt was better than Riddle.

An awkward silence settled around the men. Luckily, Abraxas, sans Catarina for once tonight, arrived.

"Ahh, Andy!" Abraxas shook hands with Andrew, "Glad you could come. Where's your lovely wife?" The host asked when he saw Andrew's free arm.

"Oh, she couldn't come."

Voldemort almost breathed a sigh of relief, Hilda Prewett had an unhealthy obsession with him, he could barely get through a dance with the enthralled woman without feeling the need to take a bath afterward. Voldemort watched as Abraxas charmed Andrew into giving some money to his cause… He hated to admit, but sometimes Abraxas really was invaluable to him. Andrew and Abraxas shook his hand one last time, before disappearing off into the crowd.

Finally alone, Voldemort took another sip of wine and spared a nod at Rodolphus who walked into the gardens with a young woman of wavy black hair, a close enough lookalike of Bellatrix. The Dark Lord almost rolled his eyes. Rodolphus was completely enthralled by the Black witch, he would not stop thinking about her, would not stop desiring her, would not stop fantasising about her…Despite already being engaged to marry the woman, who in turn didn't give him the light of day. It was pathetic, really.

And then in the sea of white robes, white suits, and white dresses, a clash of black and gold made itself known in the crowd.

Well, it seemed that a certain Black had arrived.

Voldemort closed his eyes and smirked amusedly at the startled gasps… Blacks always did make their own rules. And him knowing a particular Black very well, given that he had spent the past days training her, he could take a gander at exactly who was creating all of this commotion.

And indeed, within seconds, the characteristic voice and laughter of Bellatrix Black seemed to stun the grandiose Ballroom with it's daring, loud sound. As people seemed to part for her, much in the same way they had when he'd entered the room earlier, he took in the first glimpse of her.

She was beautiful, as any blind man could sense through her sheer arrogance alone. And usually, whatever black-and-gold contraption of a dress she chose, only accentuated said beauty… But this dress seemed a little too much; her back was bare leaving a creamy expanse of skin for anyone to run their eyes over, it's fitted top adorned with golden trimmings pulled her chest together forming an almost scandalous cleavage, and while it's black floor-length skirt was loose enough to allow her to stride with her usual haughty gait, it was also tight enough to show her curved waist… Well, either way, it was very Bellatrix.

Voldemort allowed a small smirk at Bellatrix' entrance; if Rodolphus had to be enthralled by a woman… Well then, there were worse women to be under.

Bellatrix saw him smirking and returned the smile. She then started walking in his direction, barely stopping to talk to people who had been waiting all night to speak with her, her eyes never left his leaning silhouette.

Voldemort's smirk grew. Bellatrix unspoken attraction to him was… flattering. Not surprisingly, he was still a handsome man, after all, the Horcruxes allowing him, for now, to keep much of his normal body, although for how long he wasn't exactly sure… The fact that he was powerful and influential only seemed to add to her attraction to him. Better to enjoy her attention now then.

"Ah, Gaunt, I knew you wouldn't leave me here alone with these people."

"Miss Black," he smirked as he took her hand and kissed it, "Beautiful as ever."

Bellatrix snorted, "By the Gods, Gaunt. You've been training me like a dog these past few days, the least you can do is call me Bellatrix."

"Bellatrix," he allowed, "Beautiful as ever."

"Flatterer."

"I'd say it's only for you, but I don't like lying."

She laughed at his quip. Now that was more like the man she knew; quick-witted, mean and luring you to a false sense of security before attacking hard and fast.

"I appreciate the honesty." She dryly replied.

"Well," he added, "you do look beautiful."

She looked up at him, seemingly truly startled by his honesty. He tried to not look at her, turning his face towards someone in the crowd. He had meant it, and he could tell that she realized that he had. He watched her fight the rising blush in her cheeks, feeling truly complimented despite the simple enough words he had uttered.

"Well, you clean up quite nicely as well."

It was an understatement, really. He could see it in her eyes, she thought he looked good for her to almost drop to her knees and-… He looked at her and smirked knowingly. Her eyes widened as was almost afraid that he had actually read her mind when she was saved by the arrival of the most annoying Bones he knew.

"Ah, Bellatrix."

"Edgar, how have you been?" She forced the pleasantry out.

"Cut the crap, Black," the man hissed, "You're in big trouble."

"Moi?" She feigned ignorance.

"You bitch, I know exactly what you've been doing!" The man takes a step towards Bellatrix swinging his fist back looking ready to strike her.

Bellatrix, unarmed, reflexively took a step back while Voldemort seeing the almost-blow coming a mile away stepped in front of Bellatrix. He dodged the punch the Auror had thrown towards Bellatrix and then grabbed his wrist and pulled Bones towards him. To a casual outsider, it would look like two friends embracing.

"What exactly has she done, Bones?" Voldemort growled at the man.

"She has been rifling through ministry property." Edgar Bones snarled at the woman behind him.

Voldemort relaxed. It wasn't that bad, then.

"Is that true, Miss Black?" He teased the woman.

"Oh, I would never dare." She batted her eyelashes at him, her smiling lips never losing any of their shine as she stared up at him.

That had been happening a lot lately; the flirting, he meant.

He smirked as their gazes locked and he saw a mischievousness glint in her grey eyes. So she **had **been in the ministry. Still, it wouldn't do for Bones to know, "Well," Voldemort finally lifted his eyes from Bellatrix and looked towards the other man, "the lady as spoken." Only now did he release Bones' wrist from the grip he had had on him.

Edgar grunted and left them alone. Voldemort and Bellatrix smirked at his retreating back.

"He's going to be trouble, you know that, right?" She asked softly.

"Uhm…" He nodded. "I already have a plan in mind."

"Good." Bellatrix replied, "For his sister too, then?"

"No." He confessed, "I'm thinking of asking her to join us, in fact."

Bellatrix eyed him wide-eyed, "You want to ask Amelia Bones to join?"

"Yes." He responded harshly, "Got any problem with it?"

"As a matter of fact, I do, yes."

"Oh, I can't wait to hear how you think this will go badly…" He cynically commented.

"No," Bellatrix corrected him, knowing he hated it as much as she did when he mocked her, "I **know** this will go badly! I know Amelia, I went to school with her for Merlin's sake. This is just inviting Dumbledore to spy on us."

"It's worth the risk."

"Oh, you think so?" Bellatrix couldn't help the downright rude attitude in her voice. He left her so mad sometimes…

"Bellatrix." He warned.

They exchanged glares, their (in)famous temper rising in the face of a challenge. Their faces were close, their noses almost touching, the intensity around them increased two-fold under their argument. So lost in their little world, they didn't see a man approaching them.

"Bellatrix would you do me the honour…" He doesn't get to finish.

"In the middle of something here, Yaxley." Voldemort snarled, his eyes not straying from Bellatrix'.

"I-…Right. Of course, but-…" Again, interrupted before he can finish.

"Go ask Rowle to dance, Yaxley." Bellatrix sneered, technically not at Yaxley, though he felt that. Her grey eyes were still locked on red, willing Voldemort to give up.

"Riiight…" Yaxley drawled out and left, having grasped what was happening even if Voldemort and Bellatrix hadn't.

Voldemort seeing they were attracting more attention than necessary dragged her from that ballroom and over to the place where their meetings usually took place. As soon as the door opened, he shoved her inside, immeasurably angry with her. He strode forward, restrained anger in his every movement, making her walk backwards to avoid his temper. When her back hit the edge of the dark oak table that had been the place for every meeting she had attended where he had been her Lord, she gulped. Still, she would not back down; she was right, damn it.

He approached her still, despite ending up in her personal space seeing as she had nowhere to go. She straightened her back, looking him back in the eyes, again, unafraid. He seeing her defiance stepped even closer, trying to use his superior height to intimidate her. When that didn't work, he finally tried words.

"Let me give you a crash course, Bellatrix..." He snarled at her.

"I am a Black!" Bellatrix whispered hotly at him, mindful of the people outside the door, but her eyes told the fury within her at his dismissal of her complaints, "Politics is in my blood. I was raised in it, steeped into it since I was a child. I do not **need **a crash course."

They were so close that their noses were brushing against each other. They stared in each other's eyes – thunderous grey and burning red – willing the other to give in.

Voldemort could blame what happened next on a multitude of reasons; the adrenaline coursing through his veins – **not** for her grey eyes flashing with lust; the way he was being challenged like he hadn't been in years – **not** for her red-painted lips turned upward in an angry snarl and sarcastic quip; the way that the wine had surely gone to his head – and certainly **not** over his anger that her hair had been pulled into some sort of bun hanging low in her head instead of it being left free and wavy the way he liked it – not that he had an opinion (no, no, no, no) – but he had **noticed**.

But when their lips – finally, finally, finally – met in a bruising kiss, it hardly mattered what was the reason. As their lips locked and moved not unlike the verbal battle they'd just had, his hands had already moved behind her neck, working on undoing her complicated hair-do. Bellatrix, for her part, clung to his robes, making sure to keep her hands off his face (how she had just known he didn't like that, he'd never know) and rushed to deepen the kiss.

As he ran his hand along the curve of her waist and around her ass he decided that he would however, always blame her dress. Her black, backless, bewitching dress… A dress that left her shoulders bare for him to run his fingers along her back; a dress that had her modest chest pulled together to form a delectable cleavage; a dress that was loose enough that he could run his hand under it and up her thighs. The dress was an intricate work of black silk, golden lace trimmings and expert craftsmanship… It was a work of art.

It was almost a shame that it had to be ripped to pieces.

Almost.

A deftly placed **Diffendo **had solved their issue. The ripping sound of silk was barely heard by their lust-addled brains and she didn't even make a sound, instead rapidly stripping down the tattered top sides of her dress and letting it fall all around her, her breasts finally free from their confinement.

He kissed her already bruised lips hard enough to make her whimper and her spine dip, his big hands grasped her slim waist to hoist her unto the table and clash her against his chest. She clung to him and raised her legs to encircle around his waist and pull him even closer, her high heels digging into his upper thigh almost painfully. As their bodies connected and she felt the bulge in his pants close to her centre she whimpered. He, in turn, grabbed her now-free hair and pulled her head back allowing him to bury his face in her neck at feeling her so close to him.

"What are we doing?" He whispered against her.

"Do you need me to draw you a picture?"

He glared at her, his red eyes narrowing at her teasing. Well, if she didn't mind – or even remember – the fact that she was cheating on her fiancé, he would not be the one to bring it up. He moved his mouth from her neck and into her lips, biting her before plunging her into an all-consuming kiss. She whimpered when he released their joining lips as air became an issue.

"Would it kill you to show a little respect?" He mumbled into her mouth.

"Probably." She answered back sardonically, her mind still on their verbal spat of a few moments ago.

Voldemort grunted. Gods, she was so annoying, not exactly disrespectful as he had claimed but annoying nonetheless. He then, as a punishment she seemed to enjoy if her arched back was anything to go by, bit her neck hard enough to leave a mark. She gasped, and her hands flew to his shoulders in response, as if to leverage herself against him. She moaned loudly unable to keep quiet while he left marks up and down her neck and collarbone. He grabbed her tightly so that he could bend his attention to her breasts. He tormented her nipples. Licking with a rasp of his tongue and biting hard enough to make her gasp. She dragged her long nails over the table leaving tears and rips along the wood.

"Fuck."

"Language." He smirked into her nipple, knowing that the reprimand would do nothing but annoy her.

"Oh, shut up." The bite had gone out of her voice and had turned into near desperation.

She grinded against him, urging him to move faster; to do more; to, for the love of all the Gods, take her once and for all. As she pushed herself against his hard cock still covered by his pants, he growled deep in his throat unable to hide the effect she had on him.

"Oh, for Gods' sake," she whined against his lips, "are you waiting for a written invitation, Gaunt?"

His dark eyes flashed red at her insolence.

"You're going to call me Master before we're done." He growled at her.

"Unlikely," She taunted, though she herself had her doubts, "But, please, do try."

He pushed her away and she fell from his arms to come to rest on her elbows on the dark, oak table. He took in the sight of her – dishevelled beyond belief, eyes black from lust and lips swollen from his kisses – and decided that he would make her come undone that night.

"Do not," he said, "I repeat, do **not** touch my head, understand?" He issued an order .

She nodded. She had a fair amount of privileges but when he issued that tone, it was to be obeyed without question, even if she hadn't understood the reason behind the order. The reason, however, became apparent soon enough when he pulled her towards the edge of the table and knelt before her. She felt her heart pound… He couldn't possibly be thinking-…

He pulled her down onto his mouth and thrust his tongue into her as hard and as deep as he could. Bellatrix screamed, her back arching, and Voldemort gave her no mercy. In an effort to ground herself, she moved her hands to grasp the edge of the table – the order he had given clear enough in her mind – and settled in for the ride.

His tongue was flicking against her, moving against her sensitive clit in torturous movements and Bellatrix gasped (and writhed and sobbed and grinded and moaned) atop the dark oak table as she urged him to go faster. He then pushed two fingers deep inside her. That was torture enough, but then his teeth closed on her clit and his tongue lashed against her and his fingers twisted inside.

Bellatrix couldn't handle it. She had never –ever- let a man have this much power over her. She had driven **them** wild. But this…this was too raw and vulnerable. And then, suddenly, the fast build to her orgasm was over and her back arched like a bow as a cry was ripped from her mouth. She trembled as pleasure ran through her veins, leaving her dazed and sated and pleased. He took his fingers from inside of her after the aftershocks of her orgasm had ceased.

Feeling herself return to normal, she sighed, "Close." She gasped as she came down from her high, "But not enough to call you 'Master'."

He growled at her boldness and made himself upright again. His pants had become unbearably uncomfortable while he had been pleasuring her, and in a rapid movement she was too sated to follow, he undid the binding in his pants and lowered them to the ground, not even bothering to remove them completely.

He pulled her towards him by her thighs and buried himself to the hilt, deep inside her in one thrust. She cried in delight as he did so, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as pleasure assaulted her every sense, finally feeling full. Then, he barely left her time to adjust to having him inside her and started thrusting into her at an arduous pace, moving his hips rapidly, falling nearly completely out of her before burying himself to hilt once more. Bellatrix could do nothing more but match his rhythm and cling to him – her hands (and nails) finding purchase in his lean shoulders, leaving marks up and down his back.

It was glorious, mind-numbing, pure unadulterated sex.

As he, suddenly, mostly due to a slip of his foot, changed the angle of his pace, Bellatrix seemed to cease up, her mouth open in a silent scream and eyes glazed with pleasure as he managed to find that perfect little spot inside her that could make her come apart at the seams.

"Oh. Oh." She was finally able to produce sound, but nothing coherent. He continued his pounding, making sure to keep the same angle she had clearly enjoyed. She now, seemed unable to control her vocal cords, her moans, though not entirely screamed, were loud enough that if not for the volume of the conversations outside, everyone would know exactly what was going on in that room.

He kept moving as he found himself enjoying the sounds she made despite the fact that he had always hated noisy sex. He had never understood why men had bragged about the noisiness of their conquests, or why they whined that their wives were quiet as a mouse when in bed. Maybe it was the fact that he had lived in a rundown apartment complex where whores had (loudly) traded sex for money, and businessmen (as well as some Lords and Ladies from Noble Houses) had brought their illicit (and loud) affairs. Whatever the case, he had never understood. Until now, that is. With Bellatrix under him, he understood perfectly; the need to hear her proclaim her pleasure, and the urge to brag that he had turned Bellatrix Black into a shuddering mess of trembling legs, heavy breathing, and loud, incoherent moans.

As he repeatedly hit that perfect little spot inside her and her moans grew louder and raspier, he felt her walls clench around him, squeezing him more tightly with each thrust he drove into her. She was close. And she was driving him right there with her.

"I'm-…I'm…" She tried for words but couldn't get anything coherent pass her lips. Then, as she neared her climax and him not far behind, she whispered the words that would be their undoing, "Please." That she said aloud. And then inside his head, – not aloud, she was far too stubborn for that –, she said, 'Master'.

It was the last straw.

He shuddered, and groaned, and found respite at the juncture of her neck as he came inside her. She shuddered around him as she felt him spill inside her; she trembled as he kept thrusting through it all, and she arched her back as she felt her walls clenching around him when she too found her dazing release.

A long moment passed as the aftershocks of their orgasms ravaged their bodies with untold pleasure but soon enough the only sounds in the room were the panting of their heavy breathing, the previous sound of meeting bodies gone as were the moans and screams that had been ripped from their throats almost unwillingly.

Voldemort then, after a mindless eternity, slipped from inside of her with a groan matched by her; he righted himself while adjusting his cock back into his underwear and pants. He got away from the table, unable to stand so close to Bellatrix lest he fell into her madness once again, and composed the rest of his clothing, all without sparing a look at the woman propped up atop the table where he conducted his meetings. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he walked towards the door leading to the Ballroom.

Before leaving completely, he made the mistake of looking at the woman still laying atop the table.

As he took in the state of Bellatrix spread out across the table – a dishevelled mess of black hair, her grey eyes dazed and unfocused from pleasure, her cheeks flushed from effort and ecstasy, her lips swollen, smeared with red lipstick, with the top of her dress ripped in two, the bottom half wrinkled beyond recognition, her thighs bruised from where he had grabbed her, and the juncture of her legs wet with their mixed fluids – he felt himself harden again.

He made an abrupt move towards her, ready to submit to madness one more time that night. Ready to submit to the temptation that had always been there, though he would never admit it.

She saw him moving towards her and managed to bring herself semi-upright again. She knew what he wanted, there was a clear intent in his eyes. As he reached her and she almost clung to his newly-donned tie, a voice ran through the mansion cutting through their lust-addled minds.

"My friends," Abraxas' voice echoed in all the rooms of the Manor, "It is time to have our first dance, please return to the ballroom."

Voldemort stopped mid-step as what he had just done fully hit him. Bellatrix was now staring wide-eyed at him as she too seemed to grasp the enormity of what they had done. He spared one last look at her before leaving the room altogether. He walked purposefully back into the ballroom, he didn't utter another word to the woman he had just fucked, he didn't look back, and he never even saw Bellatrix again that night.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, July 18th, 1997**

Voldemort contained a smile.

He remembered the day after that first time. How he had outwardly appeared calm while his head had been spinning in circles between: 'Fuck, I slept with a 22-year-old girl'; 'Fuck, I slept with an engaged woman', and, 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, I slept with Bellatrix Black.'

The fact that he had had a meeting with Cygnus that next day hadn't really helped matters. Of course when the man had come into his office smiling wide, Voldemort figured that their… indiscretion had remained secret. He also remembered asking, after the meeting, what had left Cygnus so happy.

The Black family Head had spun a tale of how Bellatrix – with a dark **bruise** (no, no, no, not a hickey on her neck, a slightly blushing Cygnus had insisted) – had been glowing this morning, of how she had come home early and dishevelled and of how Rodolphus had confirmed that they had slept together. And, while Cygnus wasn't completely happy about that, he thought that it was good that the engaged couple was getting along. Cygnus had left happy, having declared that surely the wedding couldn't be that far off now.

And Voldemort had been left seething.

Cygnus had thought that Rodolphus – sweet, docile, tame **Rodolphus **– had managed to leave Bellatrix panting, eyes glazed with pleasure, and legs failing beneath her…He thought that it had been Rodolphus who had taken Bellatrix. He thought that that barely-out-of-his-teens-boy had been the one that had made her moan so loud that the sounds of the party in the next room had barely been able to suppress the noise.

Seething was an understatement.

And, if that very same day Bellatrix had ended up bent over the desk in his office, with him buried deep inside her… Well, it was all Cygnus Black's fault.

Bellatrix shifted in her seat and crossed and uncrossed her legs in an effort to control the electric feeling coursing through her veins that was settling on her centre. That blasted man was just spending the entire meeting projecting images - **memories** \- of their time together into her mind and distracting her from the admittedly boring meeting.

As Augustus stood up to give his report, Bellatrix managed to keep her eyes from rolling and had to bite back a groan. Augustus was **so** thorough and **so** slow talking. She settled back in her seat with a sigh and lightly, as to not make any noise, ran her short nails over the table top, appreciating the smooth, polished, dark oak wood that had been under her many, many times. And as the Dark Lord started paying attention - or pretend to, anyways - she let her mind wander to the time their trysts had started.

After that first - and second – time things had gone on as before. With him making his moves on the Ministry and she, training with him and occasionally planning something or another for her wedding. It had been normal; their two-time tryst completely left unspoken as if it had never occurred, both sure it had been a two-time thing that would never happen again.

Then, a few months later, the day she had been dreading had arrived. Her wedding day. It had been a grand affair, nearly a thousand guests, too much food, long hours on her feet, long hours getting ready, long hours listening to some man prattle on about love and commitment and then a chaste kiss with Rodolphus that seemed to last for a dull couple of centuries. All the nagging and threats and tears, and in the end, it had been like any other wedding; her Daddy had cried, his mother had thrown a fit over nothing, her mum had aww'd at the perfect times, his father had shared an excited handshake with her uncle, etc, etc…

The party after had been fun, though. She got to dance with Rabastian – by far the best of the Lestrange brothers –, with Evan and little teenage Regulus. And **him**, because while he hadn't been at the ceremony he made an appearance at the reception.

He had complimented her dress, the first person to have done so, for her dress had been black and gold, the colours of her family crest. A fact had caused quite the stir, since women were supposed to don their husband's colours on their wedding day to symbolize the transition from one family to another; she had raved and ranted and screamed about it with her and Rodolphus' mother but Bellatrix would not budge, she was a Black and nothing would change that. Besides, she would have looked horrid in yellow and blue.

After shocking everyone with his compliment he had led her in a dance. It had felt… exciting to be in his arms again. It wasn't awkward as one might expect, but there was an underlining tension she could not deny. They had danced a couple of songs before he made his exit, his presence already sufficiently marked.

And then the wedding night. It had been… fine. Yeah, just fine. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing terribly exciting but nothing terribly wrong either. Fine. Just fine.

And in there laid the reason for the start of their affair.

'Fine', didn't cut it for Bellatrix. 'Fine', had left Bellatrix frustrated for months on end. 'Fine', had had her ready to literally blow the Dark Lord's subtle plan to smithereens just to relieve some tension.

And that's when he had offered his…assistance.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, May 1st, 1974**

Gods, she was so annoyed.

Frustrated.

Horny.

She had been letting her frustrations at home influence her work with the Death Eaters. She hadn't been able to concentrate; she hadn't been leading her team as she should; she hadn't been thinking clearly and had blundered everything up.

She had though, been having sex with Rodolphus. And though she had been reluctant after their underwhelming first time, she figured that it would be better to relieve some tension with him than alone. She had been wrong. He was more boring, unimaginative than she remembered and quite honestly, even more frustrating than a months' long dry spell.

In summation; yes, she was blaming all of it on Rodolphus.

She flinched involuntarily as the sounds of Rabastian's screaming reached her ears. The Dark Lord was in top form today, Rabastian had merely started a verbal spat with Amelia Bones at a restaurant while Bellatrix had actually attacked a platoon of Aurors…

She was so dead.

Things had been different. He was harsher, more likely to punish you than manipulate you or flatter you… She had lost many of the familiarity she had had with him. Calling him 'Gaunt', for instance, was completely out of question. He no longer seemed to have a sense of humour, not laughing at parties, not responding to her teasing during practice, nor hosting intimate dinners for his Inner Circle… It was a struggle, she would not lie.

She gulped as she watched the door to the meeting room open. She watched Rabastian almost drag himself out of the room, looking worse for the wear. Bellatrix almost rushed to him as his knees almost buckled beneath him, but he managed to keep himself upright. Rabastian placed a hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture before leaving towards Abraxas' office so he could **apparate** home to lick his wounds.

"Bella…Come." Sounded from inside their meeting room.

Gods, he was bound to be seething mad at her.

She took a deep breath, before walking purposefully into the room. She entered the room and took a look at him – his eyes no longer with red iris but full on red, his skin paler than was humanly possible, his dark hair still present but thinning – sitting at the head of the table, file upon file atop the table and he is leaning back in his chair, watching her enter.

She gulped as his eyes seemed to travel every expanse of her body. It had always been there the way he appreciated her body, but lately, it had increased ten-fold…She felt her body betray her as her mouth ran dry as all the remaining moisture in her body headed south. She swallowed the lump in her throat and licked her dry lips. She shook her head, trying to erase out of her mind all the delicious torture he could exact on her.

Gods, she was really, really horny.

"My Lord." She bowed to the waist.

"Bella." He looked at her, his red eyes burning into hers, "What you did today could have ruined, everything… If you hadn't somehow managed to erase everyone's memories." His tone was harsh, and she winced. He sighed then and asked, "What's going on with you, Bella? This isn't like you..." his voice soft-spoken, knowing full-well that for her it would work better than his regular harsh tone.

She shivered at his voice. He had technically been the last person, other than herself, that had been a decent lover of any sort. She was needy and horny and his soft-spoken voice so reminiscent of their…indiscretion… was definitely not helping.

"N-Nothing, my Lord."

"Do not lie to me, Bella."

Bellatrix closed her eyes, willing her mind to stay shut at his probing into her mind.

He didn't like that.

"Bella." He warned.

She rushed to explain, "It is an issue of a personal nature, my Lord." She tried to appeal to his distaste for personal affairs, "It will not interfere with my duties again."

One could only guess what might have happened if he hadn't invaded in private thoughts. Because while Voldemort had no desire to deal with his soldiers' problems, Tom Riddle couldn't help himself but having to **know** what exactly was going on. And no one awakened his inner Tom Riddle quite like Bellatrix Blac-…Lestrange. Bellatrix Lestrange.

But as it was he delved into her mind, the thoughts of Rodolphus underwhelming performance in bed filled both their minds. The awkward first time; the times during their honeymoon were he had truly tried his best, but she just ended up faking it, so it could all end; the times back home where he had taken her just right but then had blunder it all in the middle by trying to switch rhythms in a completely idiotic way; On and on and on and on…

When she finally managed to push him from her mind, it had been too late, and he had seen everything. She was quiet as he seemed to process what he had just seen.

"I see." He commented lightly, his eyebrows rising in surprise.

The silence was loud at that particular awkward revelation.

And then…

Then.

He just burst into laughter, his body seizing up as it seemed to be forcefully forced out of his lungs. He didn't even try to contain it, he just let it happen. Bellatrix glared at him, sighed, and crossed her arms honestly incensed by his reaction but there was nothing else she could do but let him get it out of his system.

"I can't believe this." He chuckles, unable to comprehend how Rodolphus could be fucking up this badly, "I honestly can't believe that this is happening…"

"Whatever, Gaunt."

For a moment she had forgotten the unspoken rule of not mentioning his name anymore and winced, expecting him to go ballistic over it. She breathed a sigh of relief when he still seemed more amused by the situation than anything else.

She watched as he managed to contain himself to a little chuckle.

"I am sorry that your marriage is not working out as you expected it too." He had the decency to sound contrite, though she doubted there was a shred of truth to it.

"Oh, but it is." She dryly replied, "That's the problem! It is actually going exactly as I expected it to go. Daddy is an idiot sometimes, I told him Rodolphus was too mild for me but no, Daddy had to have his way…"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes as he looked at her standing across the table, grumbling out complains and curses at her father. He then seemed to reach a conclusion about something if the way his eyes lightened up was anything to go by.

"I think I can help." He offered.

She rolled her eyes at him, "What? Are you going to give him some pointers?"

He ignored her sarcasm, "No. I'm not going to help him. I'm going to help **you** …" His red eyes ran along her body. She had always been beautiful, but now in throes of the war she was fighting for him… she was magnificent. He wanted her – had wanted her since that last time but had been sure she'd be nothing but a distraction – but now that she was… desperate he could do whatever damage control he'd need, "Come here." He beckoned.

"I-My Lord?" Bellatrix stumbles through her words.

He stands, seemingly unable to take her indecision anymore, and strides forward to take her by the back of her neck and plunge her into an all-consuming kiss full of lustful promise and delicious intent. Bellatrix could do nothing more but cling to him and let it happen.

He took hold of her waist and dragged her towards him, she willingly let herself be stirred and then turned around, so she could face away from him and be trapped between him and the dark, oak table. She moaned as she felt him close to her, the bulge beneath his robes come in contact with her ass; she gasped as he grasped a fistful of her hair and pulled; she grunted when his hand ripped the skirt of her dress and caressed her thigh.

"I've been thinking about you." He whispers in her ear, and she shivers against him, "I am alone, you enter my thoughts." She leaned back against him as one of his hands travelled up her thighs and the other grasped her throat, "I am fucking another woman, I think of you." She bucked in his arms at his words, "You, you, and you…All the time." and then again as his right hand caressed her wet underwear, "What sort of spell have you put me under? Temptress." He accused into her ear.

Bellatrix groaned as he pulled her underwear to one side, almost peeling it away from the sticky, swollen cunt. She was warm to the touch and he wasted no time in using one of his long, white fingers to play with her clit and another to tease her entrance. She sobbed once before trying to thrust herself into his fingers.

"So wet." He whispered, "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Been thinking about **me **for months."

She nodded wildly, being near to agree to anything he'd say so long as he kept fucking her just like. She was so close, finally, finally after all these frustrating months she was close; his finger kept flicking her clit, his fingers teased her entrance, entering a little and then quickly retreating to tease her some more and then, just when she was on the brink of coming, he quickly withdrew his fingers leaving her empty and needy and desperate for more.

She sobbed, "Noo…" and bucked her hips in a frantic gesture.

"My, my…Bella, I thought I'd have to get you ready for my cock, but it seems like you already are."

Bellatrix mewled with need, "Please."

"Please, what?" He teased, and with a wave of his wand removed his black robes and sighed in relief as his hard cock was finally released from its unbearably tight confinement. He bent her over – her nipple grazing against the top of the table – and grasped her waist tightly before asking, "Please fuck you?"

Bellatrix nodded, but it wasn't good enough. He wanted to hear her say it. He lined his cock with her entrance the tip barely grazing her opening. Bellatrix could hardly think with the throbbing head between her legs and so close to her entrance but hazily, she realised he was waiting for something.

" Please, what?" He repeated. She would submit to him.

She didn't hesitate, "Please," she begged, rolling her hips in desperation. "Please fuck me—" She barely got the words.

It happened in one push, and she came with a cry as soon as he buried himself inside her. He groaned and shuddered, at the suddenness of it and at the way her walls were clenching around his cock… If she had been tight before…Gods.

"That was easy." He breathed into her ear.

She was almost embarrassed. Almost, if the tension in her back weren't dissipating with each passing second. She untensed a little and let herself relax against him again, giving him the go-ahead. He tightened the grip on her hips, followed by a deep thrust that painfully ground her hips into the edge of the table – not that she noticed between the delicious ache he was causing all inside her.

Whimpers fell from Bellatrix mouth as Voldemort fucked her intensely, pulling out almost entirely before plunging back in. Her breasts swayed with the force of their rhythm, the peaks of her nipples straining against the dark oak table. All the while, Voldemort hissed deliciously filthy things into her ear. "Hot… tight… fuck, Bella…"

She shuddered as he said her name. It sounded so good…

Voldemort's left hand left her hip and slid down, resting between her legs to play with her clit; he rubbed in short, circular strokes, ones that made Bellatrix's back arch, and a scream to be ripped out of her throat as pleasure assaulted her every sense. Bellatrix' eyes rolled, and her walls clenched, twitching in rhythm, and Voldemort throbbed in turn, grinding his pelvis against hers as he emptied himself inside her. He kept thrusting inside her, riding out his orgasm and all the while prolonging her own; then, he slowed his thrusts until he, exhausted, stopped.

He panted next to her ear, seemingly as satisfied as her. He then, removed himself from inside her with a grunt, their bodies protesting any sort of movement after that they'd had been through. Voldemort rose to his full height, his legs the slightest bit unsteady and his toes still tingling slightly.

"Satisfied?"

"Hum… yes." She answered clearly.

But he still frowned as she moved to get up on her more-or-less-steady legs; last time she hadn't been able to stand so soon…She then caught sight of his red eyes. There was a clear intent in them. She gulped.

"We're not done yet." He growled, "Oh, all the things I could do to you…"

She had no more warning before Voldemort pushed his hand between her shoulder blades. She caught herself on the edges of the table and gasped when he thrust two long fingers into her hard and fast, "Yes!" She moaned and didn't miss the way he smirked ferally into her shoulder at the way it sounded pouring from her lips. His hand fisted in her hair and he pulled, forcing her spine to dip and her hips to push back onto his thrusting fingers. She groaned deeply as pleasure built within for the third time. She tensed as a cry was ripped from her throat when her vision flashed white and then quickly to black for a couple of seconds as pleasure assaulted her every sense. When she untensed from her high, he released his grip on her hair and she fell forward, breaking her fall with her forearms as she laid her midsection on the table. She panted loudly, still trapped between him and the table. She relaxed, feeling her heaving breasts resting against the warm wood, sweat covering her sated body, and a delicious strained feeling to her muscles.

She then moaned as he started thrusting his fingers again.

"No..." She moaned, "Please, please…" An agonized whine escaped her lips, "Please, stop."

"Already?" He smiled smugly but didn't hesitate and removed his fingers from inside her.

The smug smile she could hear in his voice awakened the little voice of inside of Bellatrix that said, 'Fucking hit him right back', "Don't flatter yourself. It **has **been a while." She responded dryly, "Any idiot with an ounce of common sense could have figured it out…" It hadn't been a particularly good come back but in her defense… He had been really good.

"Hum…I'll pretend I believe you." He smirked at her back as she lifted up from the table, now on clearly shaky legs. He **was** good.

He gave her some space to fix herself up. He watched her repair the corset with a flick of her wand and watched her wave a wand around to make herself as presentable as possible just until she got home and into a bath.

He was stuck with a thought: something permanent but discreet was the best way to relieve the tension he had been feeling, and the fact that she was beautiful wasn't exactly an issue. She really was the best option, with as much to lose as he had, and with the same tastes as him… Even if today he had been particularly harsh, and sudden and-… She had enjoyed herself, yes, but he had been too rough, too unforgiving, too too-much, too-…

"Yes, well…" Bellatrix broke him out of his thoughts, "Thank you."

She moved to bow but thought better of it. It seemed a little too… awkward for that, anyway. Actually, everything around him seemed a little awkward now.

"We should do this again…" He called at her retreating back and tried not to blunder it all, she turned around surprised by his suggestion, "I can't have my best warrior distracted, after all." He smirked at her.

She returned the smile, "Of course not, my Lord. You know best."

Now, she did bow before him – her awkwardness gone at his proposal – and left the room pleasantly wincing, lightly limping and with a relieved smile on her lips. And she never looked back.

That had been the beginning of their affair… But the best was yet to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Malfoy Manor, July 18th, 1997**

Now it was Voldemort's turn to shift in his seat, his cock hard at the memory she had blasted into his mind. That was something he adored about her; she always gave as good as she got. He liked that memory of having her actually desperate enough for her to beg him… It hadn't happened often after that – not **truthfully **at least, the most similar thing that had happened was her flippantly giving in and had mostly used it to tease him.

He remembered the times that they had been… different, still pleasurable but less enjoyable and – dare he say it? – fun. Ever since she had left limping after that second – okay, fine, technically, **third** – time and had spent some days after wincing as she sat down, he had been… reluctant to be as rough and tempestuous when fucking her. The whole thing had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Not only that but his body had changed from the moment they had come to an agreement his body had started to change dramatically from human to something similar to his current form. He was more angular, more thin, stronger… He could easily hurt her if he wasn't careful.

So yes, he had been gentle, which was… **not** **him**. He had been careful, touching her as if she were made of glass and not the warrior he had trained. He treated her like her Cygnus treated Druella… Like she couldn't possibly understand the darker fantasies and desires that sailed through his mind. He knew that it irked her. That it annoyed her. That it left her blood boiling and not in a good way.

He didn't realize how much until one day she completely overtook him and brought him down to earth with a bang… Pun intended.

* * *

**Muggle Town, September 5th, 1974**

Voldemort swirled around in an arch after taking down the tenth – eleventh?... twelfth? – Auror that night. Oh, he was in for a world of trouble. Bellatrix had been right. That was hard enough as it was, the woman would be even more insufferable, but right about Amelia Bones? The very thing that had led to their first… encounter? And not only that but Bones had actually managed to mount a trap for them? Oh, Bellatrix' head wouldn't be able to fit through the doors anytime soon.

He shouted at her across the street, "Bella, for heaven's sake, on your left!" The woman in question laughed in thanks and with a well placed **Diffendo **slit the throat of the man that had been about to attack her. He watched as blood flew from her enemy's throat to stain her amour which was glinting under the moonlight.

The lightweight goblin steel armour had been enchanted to protect her from most curses and any nasty debris – or knives or **bullets** – that might be thrown her way. She had designed it herself for over a couple of nights and he had found a goblin who had been willing – after an unbearable amount of sweet-talking – to sell a couple of very expensive pieces of steel plates. She had then assembled the complicated pieces herself until even the design looked exactly like she wanted: dual snakes coming off and around her chest to centre on her stomach in a bizarre hug, planks on her side protecting her flank, and a partial gauntlet on her left hand she could use to defend herself and where she usually kept a hidden knife to deal with close quarter enemies, while her right hand remained her main wand hand. It had turned out better than he could have expected really.

He watched her swirl, her free wild black hair making an arch around her, to take out another couple of Aurors with an ease that almost made **him**envious. He was about to call off a retreat – their main purpose accomplished when two loud cracks consistent with **apparition** echoed in the busy, burning street: Moody and Dumbledore had arrived.

Dumbledore's blue eyes dimmed as he took in the destruction that the Death Eaters had wrought before setting his gaze singularly on Voldemort who straightened his back ready for the challenge that only Dumbledore could truly provide. Moody, for his part, started shouting coded commands, organizing his Aurors to something resembling competence.

"Was it worth it, Tom? Whatever it was you did… was it worth to look like this?" Dumbledore asked as he gestured towards Voldemort.

Voldemort snorted. Trust Albus Dumbledore to care about how things looked and not about what it meant. Still, the Headmaster was not wrong. His good looks had given way to pale scaly skin, his dark locks of hair to a hairless head, his body seemed to thin with every day that passed even as he ate as he always had… Still, it was all worth it, in a case of an untimely accident his death would never be final. Despite his thinness, he was stronger, he had more stamina, he had more **power** .

"Come here, Lestrange!" Voldemort hears Moody yell. Then, with a look he sees the Auror throwing an **Incarcerous **her way which she deftly dodged, the two seconds-in-command continue their duel in a non-verbal fashion, with Bellatrix running Moody in circles trying to tire him out.

Albus managed to see – and then capitalize – on his distraction, "Your little protégé is fine, Tom." Voldemort grits his teeth at his enemy's little quip. Albus smiles, sensing something he can exploit. Finally. Voldemort, for his part, arches his wand to curse Dumbledore, but the Headmaster blocks it with a grimace at the unexpected power behind the wordless spell.

Behind Dumbledore, Voldemort can hear Bellatrix.

"**Glacius**!" Bellatrix yells, and Moody screams and then falls as his leg is encased in ice. Then with another wave of her wand, "**Confringo**!"

Voldemort watches Moody's leg explode in shards of blood, bone and ice with a grimace. And then again at the immeasurable scream of pain pierces every wizard present in that forsaken Muggle street. Dumbledore, at his friend's anguished cry of pain, desists his pursuit of him and turns towards Bellatrix. Voldemort panics for a slight second, but when Albus turns his wand towards her in an arc and lets a spell fly off, her ruthless training kicks-in and she manages to block Dumbledore's relentless attack.

Voldemort quickly sends orders to retreat; an enraged Dumbledore was never a good thing to deal with, and besides, they had potentially just mortally injured Moody and had destroyed a Muggle settlement almost beyond recognition. And of course, they had finally, after almost a year of trying, managed to kill Edgar Bones.

It had gone better than he could have ever expected.

Just as Dumbledore was about to flick his wand towards Bellatrix again, Voldemort disappeared in a chain of black smoke only to swoop her out of the way and **apparate **them home… To Malfoy Manor, he meant.

They landed in the meeting room, alone, his followers already at their homes preparing for the meeting they'd have tomorrow morning. Bellatrix, for her part, was vibrating against him, excited by the turn of events.

Bellatrix turned his arms, so she could face him and then with fervour she had seldom employed since their first time, she pulled him by his robes and kissed him passionately, crashing their lips together in a fiery kiss. He grabs her arms, pulls her closer, and when he feels her whimper from what he assumed was his too tight grip he slowly diminishes the intensity of the kiss. They separated as their kiss came to an all-too-soon end.

She breathed briskly, and he let go of her arms altogether. Had he looked into her mind he would have found out that she wasn't hurt but had just about reached her peek with his gentleness nonsense. What he did see were her eyes glinting with a shimmer of determination.

Then, he saw her kneel.

Voldemort looked at her kneeling before him and had to fight the urge to swallow the lump in his throat. After this mission, her kneeling before him and taking him into her mouth… He wasn't sure he'd be able to hold back. He managed to murmur to her, "You won me this battle and you want to suck me off."

"Yes." Bellatrix' resolute tone told him there was something else going on in that devious mind of hers. Still, he didn't stop her when her hands moved to undo his pants, he didn't stop when her she lowered his pants and his underwear to the floor, and he most certainly didn't stop her when her fingers started stroking the length of his cock.

His legs nearly buckled when she looked up at through her lashes. He liked her defiance, liked it when she challenged him but by the Gods when she succumbed to him… His cock throbbed in her hands, and he grabbed a fistful of black-hair, grounding himself in her. Bellatrix, despite her less-than-dominant position, smirked.

"You seem a little… desperate, my Lord." She teased him, the tip of her tongue threading close to the tip of his cock but far enough that he could feel it where he wanted it to.

Voldemort fought to maintain his composure, the fight had created in him the same lust that was affecting her, their victory an almost unparalleled aphrodisiac and the woman he had been sleeping with for the past months… A woman he was too afraid to fuck properly in case he broke her with the newfound strength that he couldn't truly control yet… that woman was kneeling right in front of him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Still, in a somewhat steady voice, he managed, "Aren't you going to do something about it?"

Bellatrix didn't answer with words, although her smirk spoke thousands of them, she merely dipped her head, and his vision exploded with stars. All the remaining heat in his body rushed straight to the tip of his cock. Bellatrix' mouth had pressed against the tip of his and when her raspy tongue peeked out to start drawing circles, he couldn't stop his hips from jerking into her mouth.

Thankfully, she seemed to be done teasing. She opened her mouth wider, and Voldemort groaned as several more inches of his cock slid inside. When a rasp Bellatrix' tongue swiped against him, he couldn't stand it anymore and used the grip he had on her hair to his advantage and pushed a little further, burying more of his length until he nudged the back of her throat. He shuddered and steadied himself draw back still unwilling to hurt her. And once again, Bellatrix managed to surprise him. The tight muscles resting against his tip relaxed, taking him even deeper. His vision blurred for a moment, but when it cleared again, the sight before him almost made him completely lose whatever control he thought he had left. Bellatrix' lips had formed a seal around the base of his cock, closing him in completely.

"Fuck." He growled, his hand fisted her hair harder, "Bella." He **felt** her smirk against him, he **felt **her breathing, bloody hell, he could swear he could **feel **her very heartbeat. It was almost too much, and she hadn't even moved yet.

As if sprung by his thought, Bellatrix began moving, working her from bottom to top, letting every inch of his cock slide out before taking the whole thing back in. He closed his eyes unable to see her and not come apart but shuddering as her tongue dragged against his cock, and her black-painted nails ran along his thigh. Heat coiled in his stomach, his cock twitching whenever a jolt of pleasure shot down along his length.

He then made the mistake of opening his eyes and looking to down to see Bellatrix head bobbing up and down his cock. Small details stood out like Bellatrix' lips, red swollen and shining and sealed around the base of his length; her cheeks, stained a deep red, stretching to hold his cock. And her eyes. Fuck, they were even grey anymore. They seemed deep and black and endless, she almost looked like she's going to… Fuck. He closed his eyes again, he was so **close** .. .

Suddenly Bellatrix abruptly let him go and scurried away from him right before he could finish. She was near the cold marble floor, panting as the effort got to her, her chest heaving from lack of breath. She looked up at him, defiant at something.

Voldemort, for his part, was left cold, hard and wanting… wanting it so badly. He wanted her, wanted to bury himself inside her, wanted to fuck her until he couldn't move anymore. Nevermind gentle, he was throbbing, all his blood had gone to his cock. By the Gods, the things this woman did to him…

"Bellatrix, get up, now." He snarled. "Get up and let me **fuck **you!"

Dazed by his command, by his voice, by the near desperation in his tone... whatever it was that she had been planning seemed to vanish from her eyes as they were rendered black from lust. She rushed to obey his order and propped herself up on the table. In a quick move he lined himself up with her entrance, and just as he looked ready to finally plunge himself inside of her, she quickly shrugged away from him and further into the table. He whined as he thrust into nothing.

"Stop." She fought to keep the whimper off of her own voice, "I don't want you inside me tonight."

He knew she was lying. Having just brushed against her gave him an idea of exactly how wet she was, she was as turned on as he was… But despite that, he could tell she was not teasing him. She did not want him inside her tonight.

He growled and stepped away from the table, trying to put some distance between them.

Bellatrix panted, thinking to herself that this was harder than she thought it would be. He was stubborn, and he didn't want to give in. Oh, but she'd make him. The gentle side of him, while unexpected was putting her on edge; it left her stressed because it meant he didn't trust her not even to let himself go in the most basic of ways.

She stepped off the table and tried to regain her own composure, casting cleaning charms over herself. When she was sure she would not jump him and that he would not interrupt her mid-sentence she started, "See," she quipped, "why can't you be this… **you** the other times we're together?"

Voldemort growled, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Bellatrix sighed. He **would **deny it to his dying breath that he'd been anything else but utterly himself during his whole life. But Bellatrix was having none of it. If she had wanted a half-baked exercise that left her pleased and yet so completely unsatisfied she would have stayed with Rodolphus. If they both truly didn't want to stop having sex, something would have to change. And it seemed that it would all fall to her…

She rolled her eyes and then ran her hands over messy black-hair in a frustrated gesture, "Do I need to put on elaborate schemes every time I want you to fuck me like you mean it?!"

"This is **never **happening again!"

"Just because you don't want to treat me as your equal!" she yelled right back, "Which, fine! It's fine, I never expected you to, for Gods' sake. But at the very least I expected you to be a good fuck." Voldemort looked wide-eyed at her and then as what she had said hit her, Bellatrix ceased up expecting to be tortured within an inch of her life for her insolence. She tried to apologize, her eyes full of regret and fear, "I-…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-…"

He surprised her by interrupting her and then, even more so, when he sighed and then spoke, softly.

"You left limping."

"I-…What?" Whatever she had been expecting it hadn't been that. She expected rage, murderous intent or at the very least, embarrassment. But his tone, his eyes, it seemed he was angry at himself, not her…

"The night we agreed to make our… trysts more or less continuous…" He cleared his throat lightly, now the embarrassment made itself known on his every move, "You left here limping. It – **I – **hurt you." He closed his eyes as the memory seemed to invade his mind, "I am many things, Bellatrix, but I do not abuse the women I sleep with."

"Is that what you think happened?" Bellatrix asked, incredulous. She had left with a smile on her face for Merlin's sake, "You think you **abused** me? Whatever we did, we did willingly…Or at least I did. I had fun! I liked it! I-…" She took a deep breath, unsure of how to continue her sentence.

"I've tortured you." He counters her, and walks closer to her now that he's calmer, "I've used the Cruciatus curse you. And I must keep doing it, for both our sakes." The rumours of their relationship were already growing, he had to appear impartial, no matter how much it pained him, "How can you want me to be rough when I already am outside of our… agreement?"

Bellatrix laughs, finally understanding his dilemma, "I know when to distinguish this you," She points at tiny space between her and him, she was standing closer than Lord Voldemort would ever allow anyone, "And my Lord." She closes the distance, even more, to lay a small kiss on his thin lips, "I know you've been holding back, and I know it has left you frustrated too," he nods for it **had** left him frustrated, "You can be yourself, darling. Don't hold back on my account."

She then pulls him by his tie and crashes their lips together in a raw, fervent kiss. This time he doesn't balk, and kisses her back with the same fervour, pulling closer by the waist crashing their bodies together, grabbing her neck and biting her lips with each movement on theirs. Finally, finally after a delightfully torturous eternity, he untangles their lips but doesn't let her step away from him, pulling her even closer and hiding his face on her wavy, black hair.

"'Darling'?" He pants in her ear.

"Too much?" She asks equally breathless.

He hums, "Uhm… No." He decides, "I think I rather like it."

Bellatrix hides her smirks into his robes. It seemed that not **all** that softness had been for show.

.

.

.

"So…Want me to tie you up?"

She laughed, "I could be into that."

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, July 18th, 1997**

She smiled as that last memory left her mind and sneaked a peek at the subtle – nearly imperceptible – way his lips curved as he also finished that memory, even if he had left out some of the more… interesting parts of that night.

After that moment their… (Dalliance? Affair? Relationship?) ... Their '**thing**' had evolved. They had more trust in each other, he was sure that she'd protest if he crossed a line and she was sure he was not holding back. They had gone from stilted, boring sex to exciting, satisfying trysts. Not only that but the less… carnal… aspect of their thing had also evolved. They spent more time together, dinners were more frequent, they spent whole nights together, and when he travelled abroad he usually took her with him…

It had been **normal**, something neither of them thought they would have craved.

Although, he **had** eventually tied her up which had been very, very fun. And surprisingly, after he showed a mild interest for it, she had tied him up – very, very, **very **loosely – to his bed's headboard, and it lasted about a minute before he was declaring the whole thing useless… Still, that memory of him trusting her to use one his ties to secure him against the headboard had played in her mind to stave off the Dementors at Azkaban.

And, of course, some unusual (and very public) places had been used for their trysts… With him taking her in the Rosiers' famous gardens during a luncheon thrown in his honour; On a hemlock during the Morningstar's summer-long Masquerade Balls disguised with a couple of masks; Against the glasshouse at her parents Manor; In the hot springs near the Lestrange Estate during a boring soirée Rodolphus' mother had insisted on… And of course, the famous dark oak table at Malfoy Manor that was the setting (and the sitting) of their first time and was now the place where the new world order was being planned and created… Exciting times to say the least.

Bellatrix was startled by Amycus rising to give the final report. Finally, things were wrapping up and they could finally discuss the thing – fine, fine, the **child**, she amended herself as an inner voice, not too dissimilar to that of her mother's, object at the term 'thing' – that was growing inside her.

Bellatrix swallowed a smirk as another unbidden memory rose within her mind, this time not put there by him, though she doubted he'd forgotten. It had happened a short while after she had broken off a leg of the oak table during training and it had left the whole thing a little wobbly, still…

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, May 11th, 1978**

She was panting above him, moving up and down over his cock, his hands on her hips, helping her keep their rhythm steady. Her black hair waved with each trust, his chest contracted with the force behind them and their eyes were closed chasing off the ever-elusive orgasm. The table under them whined as their bodies met with hard thrusts.

It had been a trying day, to say the least; a mission went astray, and a chance meeting with Dumbledore and her traitor of a cousin had left them both in a… **mood**. After a brief meeting - after everyone had returned from the fight - the frustrated pair had come together with a crash of angry snarls and frowned lips connecting. They hadn't left the room since and luckily for them, Abraxas and Catarina Malfoy were in Greece visiting her family.

The table gave another groan after a particularly hard thrust.

"You're… going to break the table. Again." He growled even as he thrust upward to meet descending hips.

"You're a wizard." She growled back, wincing a little as his hands tightened their grip, "Fix it, later."

He growled and panted a final time before letting her set the bruising, harsh, punishing rhythm of their thrusts. The table under them now seemed to be screaming for mercy, but neither of them was satisfied yet. As the pace was getting more and more mechanical - and less and less enjoyable - the both of them seemed to be growing more frustrated and be nowhere near their release. Voldemort propped himself up from lying down to sitting atop the table, with her in his lap; they moaned at the new position and he still let her set the new pace at the better angle, rolling his hips unto her merely to match her rhythm. Bellatrix sighed as a pleasant pressure rose within her. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

"Better?" He taunted.

"Just…" She moaned, "…keep moving." Her cheeks were flushed from the effort, her black hair was stuck to her wet forehead and a drop of sweat ran over the valley the of her breast, he leaned forward to catch it with his tongue and her spine dipped back at feeling his mouth touching her skin.

Sweat covered their still mostly clothed bodies and their rising sighs and moans echoed in the empty Manor. Bellatrix clutched his shoulder as the pace started getting to her, leaving red half-moon dents and welts of her short nail on his pale white skin. He winces at the force behind her grip but doesn't dare stop their rhythm. She might actually kill him…

As the pace got faster and faster the only sound of warning they had was whining sound of the table under them.

**CRASH!**

Bellatrix squealed as the section of the table they'd been on collapsed under their combined weight and frenzied movements. Voldemort managed to break their fall with a quickly cast spell but still winced when their connected bodies gave an unexpected, too-harsh jolt.

For a while, their laboured breath was the only sound in the room.

Until he broke their stupor with a chuckle, "I told you."

She laughs with him, before asking, "Are you hurt?"

"No…"

"Good."

Just as she was about to resume their fast-paced rhythm an unexpected sound filled the Manor.

"Fuck." They both whispered, horrified by the thought of being walked in on.

The Floo Network in Abraxas' office was giving signs of life that could mean only one thing… Abraxas, tired of Catarina's admittedly insufferable family, had come home early.

Voldemort and Bellatrix quickly rose from the floor and made sure to cover at least the lower parts of their bodies. As they looked at each other they realised that despite everything being more or less covered up, they still looked like they'd been doing exactly what they'd been doing. Then, as one they turned to look at the broken table. They reached the same conclusion at the same time; they only had time to fix one thing: either the table or their clothing…

Somehow, in a fit of panic, they chose the table.

Abraxas Malfoy, dressed in white and with his long white-blond hair tied in a low-ponytail, entered the room in time to see the sweaty, barely clothed bodies of his Lord – his 'friend', his schoolmate who he had never even seen **really** looking at a woman before – and at the daughter of one of his friends – the sister of his son's wife, a **married** woman...

Abraxas' blue eyes nearly popped out of his skull as his entrance had prompted Voldemort to half-stand in front of Bellatrix covering semi-naked form and Bellatrix to raise a hand to his shoulder, seemingly in a supportive gesture.

"My Lord." Abraxas bowed, his top-class education making him default to familiar habits, "Lady…" he hesitated; calling the black-haired woman 'Lady Lestrange' had always seemed wrong, for she was a Black through and through, and besides, the way his Lord was looking – glaring – at him seemed dissuasion enough; and yet 'Black' was not quite right either. "…Bellatrix." he settled for that.

"Abraxas." Both said in unison; 'shame' didn't seem to be a part of their vocabulary, although, Abraxas could not deny a subtle blush on all their cheeks.

What was not subtle, however, was the way Tom – his Lord, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, **whatever** … - was partially covering Bellatrix modesty, standing half in front of her in an almost… protective gesture that seemed out of place for the man Abraxas knew. Abraxas wasn't sure what was more concerning, the actual affair or the feelings that seemed to exist between them. Bellatrix' hand was **still** on his shoulder without him complaining, and he was still covering her body, seemingly unwilling to let anyone see her.

The whole picture spelled disaster.

"Tom." Abraxas was one of the few people who could still say his name without fear of a major repercussion, and so he ignored the Dark Lord's warning red look as well as Bellatrix' flashing grey eyes at his insolence, "I am saying this as your…friend." He choked on the word, unable not to stumble over it, "This could destroy us. You, sleeping with the wife of one of your most loyal men!"

They didn't deny it. Not that any fool would believe them if they did and Abraxas Malfoy was no fool.

"Abraxas." Voldemort wasn't sure how to get out of this situation without having to threaten or kill Abraxas. Threatening him would make Abraxas take a step back from him and he would lose control over his most keen supporter… Killing him would accomplish much the same since Lucius wasn't quite in his grasp yet. It was a delicate situation. Luckily, Bellatrix intervened.

"Abraxas, look, this is something personal,…" She didn't get to finish.

"See, I like you, Bellatrix…" Abraxas freely admitted. And he did, she was beautiful, powerful, smart… A perfect match for his 'friend', really. And had the times not been those of war and Cygnus not an impulsive fool to sell his greatest daughter to the first noble family that had appeared, Abraxas would have supported the match between the eldest Black sister and the Gaunt heir…He would have even **lobbied** for it despite Tom's less than stellar background. Such a match would have been… magnificent. But as it were, "…but this is a war we're fighting, he can't afford distractions."

It had been the wrong to say. The air suddenly cooled around them and Bellatrix' grey eyes narrowed to match the sudden temperature change.

"I am not a distraction, Abraxas." Her sharp tone broke no question, this was a tone of a woman used to get everything she asked, the way she asked, no questions asked… It was almost frighteningly similar to that of her mother. And her steely grey eyes seemed to steer a whole promise of retribution for what he had said. Despite himself, Abraxas shivered as she continued, "And our Lord is more than capable of making his own decisions."

Abraxas tried to subtly swallow his distress, "Your husband…"

"Is none of your concern," Bellatrix ruthlessly interrupted, "Rodolphus is my responsibility to handle, Abraxas. And while he may come to hate **me** , he'd never defect to the Light… I would have never have married such a man, no matter how little concern he is to me."

Bellatrix' particularly careless attitude almost made Abraxas pity the young man who had looked so smug on his wedding day. Her cold tone when speaking about the man she married, did send Abraxas down spiraling; a wife should not speak of her husband in such a careless way, but she was a Black, and Black women were famously… fickle when it came to their husbands. Thankfully Narcissa was more Rosier than Black.

"And," Bellatrix continued, "don't think I'm not aware of the little rivalry contest the Malfoy and Lestrange families have going on."

It was true, too. While there was no doubt of who was the most prominent and powerful pureblood family in the country – the Blacks always had a knack for producing especially cunning and powerful heirs that, no matter how impulsive or hot-headed they were, the dark family always came out on top – the number two spot had oscillated between the Malfoy, Lestrange and Rosier families for years. All of these families had in the past quarter-century made moves to acquire one of the famous Black sisters to themselves.

Rosier had been spurned by Andromeda, but Malfoy and Lestrange were still very much in competition. And, if Bellatrix' affair with the Dark Lord became public knowledge, with Rodolphus' inability to keep his wife from trouble then Lucius advantage would be clear… Of course that somehow the Blacks would still come out on top of all of this; a daughter married to the second most powerful family and another entangled with the Dark Lord himself.

Blacks always were like cockroaches…Abraxas can't help but think of the noble family.

Voldemort kept silent as this battle of wills unfolded in front of him. He was not oblivious to Pureblood Politics – he could not afford to be and had played the game for years – but there was a certain grace, a charm to Bellatrix' way of doing politics. She was player of superb power simply by the fact of who her family was and how she had been raised; she had been steeped into it since before she was born but, unlike most people in her position, she was not subtle by any means – she never was, really – and was more honest than is perhaps advisable to manipulate others.

But, he had to admit, if one wanted to manipulate Abraxas Malfoy, his ego, his family, and the truth was always the way. And Bellatrix had used all three… And not only that, but at the same time she had managed to up his own status by deferring to him and deeming him better than Rodolphus in the eyes of society – as well in her own personal priorities – and managed at the same time to defend him against Abraxas while also attacking the Malfoy Head on his own ambitions. She was glorious sometimes… Now, if only she'd compose her dress.

Tense moments followed as Abraxas seemed to contemplate the whole situation.

"You are right, Lady Black." Abraxas conceded.

Voldemort hid a smile. Abraxas had come to the conclusion that their affair was good for him personally when revealed. Bellatrix had convinced him with a few well-placed words and the power behind her name. 'Lady Black', indeed.

Now all Voldemort had to do was persuade Abraxas to let things run their course before announcing their dalliance. Not that they'd ever confirmed it, it was too dangerous, for both her – her status gone, a (larger) target on her back – and him – his followers believing him weak and uncaring for their rituals; but Abraxas didn't have to know that, he just needed to believe that they eventually would. Before Voldemort could open his mouth to speak, Abraxas started.

"Am I to assume…"

"You are to assume nothing, Abraxas." Voldemort rushed to interrupt, "My friend…" Voldemort employed the term – false as it was-, "You are one of my trusted advisors," Abraxas didn't hide his wince at 'one of' and not the 'most' has it used to be – perhaps Bellatrix had that title now, "…But we can't afford this to get out. Not just yet." He issued the order as request to spare Abraxas' pride.

And Abraxas was no fool. He saw the underlining threat.

Abraxas yielded, "Of course not, My Lord. The timing must simply be perfect."

Voldemort spared one last look at Abraxas, before extending his hand towards Bellatrix which she gladly took, and as soon as she was within his arms he spoke one last time to the other man in the room, "We'll be retiring. Good night, Abraxas."

Both Bellatrix and Voldemort **disapparated ** out of the room with a crack.

Abraxas relaxed and sighed as he sat in his usual seat at the table – at the right of his Lord, and right in front of Bellatrix – and for the first time since he could remember, wished he'd just stayed with Catarina in Greece, no matter how annoying her family could be.

Voldemort sighed as soon as he found himself in their – His! His. He meant to say ' **his** ' – chambers. Next, he sat in the couch near the archway that led from the bedroom and into the balcony overlooking the artificial lake of Malfoy Manor, catching a bit of the mountain breeze on his skin. The room was all-white, like the rest of the Manor, although there slight undertones of black in the room now; some of his and her clothes spread along the floor, a couple of bottles of her favourite perfume, a few of her jewelry in the vanity… Yes, 'their' chambers might not be an exaggeration.

He sighed deeply, finally feeling at peace for the first time that day. And then grunted as she abruptly sat in his lap, his eyes opened to glare at her but then he noticed she had stripped her dress and shoes and was basically sitting in his lap with nothing but her underwear. Instead of the glare, he allowed a smile to adorn his face.

She leaned back against him, sighed and then pouted, "Interrupting us right when things were getting good was just rude."

He chuckled, "Come now, ma belle." He teased. "It could have been worse."

She smiled at him. He had been calling her that since their impromptu trip to Paris a few months back.

They had gone there at the request of one of Evan's friends to talk with the French Minister of Foreign Affairs… It turns out that that Minister was actually Florian Deveraux, who had been one of her former flames and someone who had actually sent over a marriage proposal. Florian had spent most of the diplomatic dinner flirting with her, much to Voldemort's annoyance. And worst of all, he had spent the night calling her the little nickname he had for her ever since he saw one of her ballet recitals, 'mon petit papillon'.

Voldemort had been left simmering with anger and – though he'd never admit it – jealousy.

He had ground his teeth as he watched Florian lead her in a waltz that she could not have refused, not if they wanted French support. He had watched with clenched fists as he brought a glass of Champaign over to Bellatrix and then had **insisted **on a toast to their long-standing relationship. He watched with a near-glare in his eyes as Florian regaled the guests of the dinner with the sparse exploits of his and Bellatrix' brief time together.

He let all of that slide and bore it with a strained smile. But then when they had gone back to Florian's Mansion, where they'd spend their stay in Paris, he had not been able to hold back. He had sneaked into her room – which was conveniently next to Florian's – and had very nearly fucked her hoarse. He had fucked her until she moaned, grunted, screamed, begged and finally, finally pleaded for mercy.

Breakfast the next day had been… awkward. With poor Florian always sprouting a severe blush on his cheeks and serious look of envy every time he turned his gaze in the couple's direction; Bellatrix wincing as she sat down, her voice a little worse for the wear as well, and Voldemort smirking smugly, although not to the point of being considered an insult and calling her 'ma belle' at every opportunity even as Florian showed them around the French Ministry.

He smiled at the memory. Florian was an asshole, yes, but a useful one. They traded correspondence now, although Bellatrix was always absent from their letters… Well, on Florian's side either way, on Voldemort's side she often read and gave him advice and dirt of French politicians her contacts had managed to acquire. She truly was becoming a force to be reckoned with in all matters of his war. Speaking of…

"You did well, with Abraxas." He said, running his fingers along her bare legs.

Her eyes sparkled with unrestrained energy, "I do love winning." She then turned to straddle his lap, her legs on each side.

"Oh? Do you?" He smiles up at her, his fingers running up her thighs to then caress her wet center, and as she moans he can't help but add, "I could have never have guessed." She then whines as he returns his hand to settle on her thighs. He lets her grind against him, "My, my, Lady **Black** , you're a little... desperate."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" She smirks down to him.

He leans up, his mouth brushing with hers, "I'm going to fuck you silly," He whispers into her mouth, and then gripping her thighs, he lifted himself up with her still straddling his waist, she squeaks at the sudden move, "You'll feel me for weeks, ma belle."

She moans as he lays her down on their – His! His. She meant to say, ' **his** ' – bed. He smirked at her thoughts – not so dissimilar from his own – before laying himself a top of her.

"Ready?"

"Oh, darling," she taunts playfully, "You're not on top here." he doesn't have time to react when she flips them around with a smile on her lips and as he finds himself beneath her, she smirks down at him, before settling herself on top of him once again.

"What?" He asked mockingly, "Are you going to say something incredibly vulgar like, 'Hold on for the ride'?"

"Oh, no, no, no." Bellatrix whispered against his mouth as she leaned over him to lay a somewhat chaste kiss on his lips, "I'm not going to **ride** you, Master." He groaned at that, he lov-… he liked it when she called him 'Master', "That's for later." She paused while she bit a kiss into his jaw, "As for now… Well…" She kissed his mouth again in lieu of finishing her sentence.

Their tongues meet and tangle for a while until she releases him and smirks down at him and moves her lips from his, and down to his neck, his chest, his stomach and then down still. He barely has a chance to groan when she takes him in her wet, hot mouth and sucks him into her madness. He fisted his hand in her hair as her head moved up and down his cock, in slow deep movements.

Needless to say that sleep in that bedroom didn't come before the early hours of the next day.

* * *

**Malfoy Manor, July 18th, 1997**

Voldemort hid his smile with his fist as he leaned against it while he pretended to hear whatever the hell Amycus was prattling on about. That particular memory was one of his favourites; they had been winning the war, and they were more or less established in their… relationship.

After that whole debacle with Abraxas, despite them not **confirming **or admitting to an affair, they had become a little more careless while in Malfoy Manor. So much so that in there laid the reason why their affair was so well-known; the private dinners became much more public, he called her 'Bella' so often that people didn't bat an eye anymore, people at parties got used to see them hosting together, if one wanted to talk to Bellatrix or him they only need to ask the other…

Later on, he had been startled by a thought. He had never even considered giving her up when Abraxas had found out. Hadn't considered it despite the fact that it would have helped solve everything, despite the fact that it could have cost him everything if he wouldn't give her up… He had chosen her over his movement, mildly as it was.

It had been a mild point of contention between him and Bellatrix. He had become distant much to her puzzlement for a while, trying to figure out why exactly he had done it. Then, she had found out the reason why and from there began one of the most baffling arguments they ever had… **She**had been the one angry that he had – mildly – picked her over it all, had been left seething mad, really and had raved for over an hour about how negligent he had been…While he had merely sat and watched her work through the motions and then explained to her from a safe distance– after she had splintered a couple of their meeting table's wood – that as he thought it over, he really wouldn't have regretted it either way. He could have controlled it if Abraxas had truly gone ballistic, it would have been harder, yes, but he could have done it.

After she had calmed down, he had taken her in his arms much to her confusion and he had confessed that the fact that she had been mad made him feel better about the whole thing, truly. She had relaxed into him and admitted that while she might adore him – she had been very **careful**with her wording, but he had seen the true meaning behind it – their war, their movement, their **victory** came first. No matter how much it might hurt her.

It had been the turning point for him. Bellatrix might like to think that their relationship began in 1974 when they agreed to keep their trysts more or less regular, or when they agreed that him treating her so gently was not constructive for their agreement… But to him, it truly began after that argument was over. Their plans, their priorities, and their lives were irrevocably intertwined.

That had been then. But now… Now there was a child entangling their lifes even more. He was about to lose his composure and runs his hand through his head in a frustrated gesture reminiscent from a time when dark locks adorned his scalp. But before he could truly embarrass himself, Amycus finished giving his report. The last of the day.

Finally.

"Dismissed."


	3. Chapter 3

**Malfoy Manor, July 18****th****, 1997**

**_Before the meeting…_**

Voldemort sighed as he finally came back to his office in Malfoy Manor. He had stepped out for what turned out to be a two-hour meeting about Marcus Flint's **_insecurities_** about joining him. If Rodolphus hadn't praised the boy on his ruthlessness and his dominion atop a broom, he would have left the 'meeting' with Flint in the first 20 minutes. As it was, he had stayed and had tea and had been his very charming self. In the end, Marcus Flint had been reassured and Voldemort had been left with two hours less in his schedule.

He groaned as he sat at the desk, his black chair – it's back facing the window which was set against the light blue of the sky and the Malfoy's impossibly ostentatious dark green maze – barely even squeals with his slight weight. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a short while trying to find some sense of calm before the meeting. He pinched the bridge of his … well, 'nose'… as the mother of all headaches threatened to split his head opened.

He was so tired. Tired of having to pull almost everybody along with him, having to take the hands of the people around him to try and finish this damned bloody war. It was draining, it was exhausting, it was all oh-so-**_tiring_**.

Especially when the thing he was supposed to be reading now was the report from Thanatos Nott. Just thinking about his Department, made Voldemort want to slam his head against the desk a couple of times.

The Department of Fucking Tourism, Sports and Entertainment.

What a waste of his time. Still, he had to read the report before the meeting which was due to start in about 2 hours. He sighed and opened his red eyes to look at the report he had been reading before being called to calm the fears of a too-childish man. He frowned as he looked at this desk. There were reports from all the Departments, but Thanatos' was missing. How odd.

As he reflected on it, he realized that it was probably in the meeting room. He had been spending a lot time there since Bellatrix had been gone. Their bed was… not the same without her. And he **_did_** need less sleep now…even if he did sleep in his bed every night when Bellatrix was home… **_Anyway_**, his point was, he had been spending his nights catching up on reports in the meeting room, so he had probably, in a reflex born out of too little rest, taken Thanatos' there.

He got up from the chair, goes around the desk, passing the light wood of the office's bookcases that he had yet to change and left the room to pass through the Hall and then into the room where they usually take their meetings.

Voldemort strode into the room with a careless stride. And then, stood motionless at the entrance. There in his seat, looking down at the report he had been looking for, sat the woman he hadn't seen in nearly two weeks.

He stood there at the doorframe and took her in. She looked good. In a little over two weeks, she had filled out a little, her previous near-skeletal frame had given way to a still-much-too-thin but healthier form; her black hair looked well-tended, shinier than before and falling in waves along her shoulders. She was frowning down at Thanatos' report, probably wondering why the Department of Tourism, Sports and Entertainment had **_such_** a detailed report. He coughed politely, and she lifted her head from the report.

When her eyes caught sight of him, standing tall, proud and pale against the changed brown wallpaper, the tenebrous bored-grey turned into shining steel, her very mood shifted as she was finally graced with him.

"Hello." She grinned.

Her perfect teeth were visible through her grin. He couldn't help but smile back, remembering how hard Bellatrix had struggled with her teeth when she had gotten out of Azkaban; she had wanted to fix them right away, but her Healer had been against it, saying that waiting few more months would be better. So, her teeth had waited to be fixed until the Battle of Department of Mysteries was over and done with.

He leans against the archway to simper at her, "You're in my chair."

Bellatrix laughs, "I am." Then, leans backward, further into the chair, and lifts her chin at him, "What are you going to do about it?"

He shakes his head, amused, "Only just arrived and already you're getting on my nerves."

"**_I'm _**getting on your nerves?" She asks incredulously. She then, points at the report in her hands in an unbelieving gesture, "Have you read this report? **_This_** is torture to read."

"Well, I can already tell what you're going to think about the meeting."

Bellatrix groans desperately at the word, 'meeting'. She closes her eyes and near pouts at the mere thought, "A meeting? Tonight?" She sighs, "Must you?"

"Yes. **_We _**must." He answers, unconcerned by her pampered attitude. She really was a spoilt brat sometimes.

Bellatrix sighs, "Fine. But I'm going under protest."

He rolled his eyes at her and then smiled when she grinned at him. She was in a good mood, thank the Gods. He thought he'd have to deal with a desolate Bellatrix when she came back, but here she was: happy, smiling, healthier.

"Did you have a good time with Carmen?" He asked, still leaning against the doorway. Still far from her, not desiring to have her fall into his arms like an insipid love story from Narcissa's store troves of romance novels she kept 'hidden'.

"Yes." She answered, "Even if Carmen kept wondering why I was away from you when we've just killed Dumbledore." Unbidden, a smile settles on his lips at the death of his enemy, "Besides that, she has another husband in view, but for the time being we were alone at the Zabini Villa. It was nice to get a little sun, even if Italy's Summer heat is a little too much for me."

"Winter's child." He accuses her, knowing how much she loved the frozen wasteland that the grounds around the Black Manor became when Winter came.

"Indeed." She sneers back, playfully. She then rises from his chair and walks towards him.

Only now does he see what she's wearing, a nice, loose, black dress that came down to her knees – fitting for the Summer heat, despite its colour – a golden set of earrings adorned with black diamonds (of course), matching rings and **_his_** necklace – the one he had given her, the one she never took off – transfigured to the colours matching the rest of her jewellery. Black high-heeled sandals that put her on almost a parallel height to him. An outfit fitting for a travelling Lady of her House coming from a decidedly warm country.

He looked almost drab in comparison, standing only in his usual black robes which were over a pair of black trousers and a black shirt. Still it was all high-quality and he wore it well, if Bellatrix own appreciative ogle was enough to go by on. But then, again, the woman would like him if he wore a potato sack, of that he had no doubt. Once she is close enough that she can step into his personal space and lay her hand atop his light robes smoothing out wrinkles only she seems able to see, she looks to his red eyes for a while as if expecting something.

Then when nothing happens, she speaks, "You could at least kiss me." She smirks up at him, and then before he can do what she asked, she stands on the tip of her toes and places a light kiss on his thin-lips.

As she's about to step away he grabs her and pulls her to him and kisses her proper. His hands encasing her in his arms, one around her waist another rising to tangle in free, wavy, black hair. Their mouths move languidly against each other in a soft but amorous kiss. Voldemort moans a little when she bites his lip wanting to bring the kiss to an end.

He lets her have her way, but then just as she was about to undoubtably say something that'd ruin the mood, he decided to shut her up preventively. With his hand still on her waist, he moves the other to her arm to spin her around – which she does gracefully, despite the heels – and then pushes her against the table so she has nowhere to run. He then starts kissing her neck and trying to hike up the skirt of the dress.

"Really?" She dryly says. "Really?"

"You've been away for **_days_**." He hissed in her ear and she leaned back against him, letting him plant kisses along her neck and jaw.

"Uhm…" She moaned contently, glad to be back from her self-imposed exile, "You needed time to think about… everything." He groaned and rested his head in the area between her neck and her shoulder. Bellatrix shook her head amusedly, and turned around to look him in the eyes, "Come now; you know it's true. You were making a snap decision about something important."

"I don't want to talk about it, yet." He complained. He had been right, she had been about to wreck the mood.

"Fine," She sighed, "but we won't be able to hide it for long."

"Why not?" He asked genuinely clueless, "You're tiny, you barely have any weight, we have months before anyone suspects anything."

"Yes…" She drawled, "But these –," she makes a gesture towards her breasts, "don't look this big on a good day." She snorts then, "People will think I went away to get them." Voldemort tried to hide his smirk, but Bellatrix caught it, "Stop it, it's not funny."

"It's a little funny." He counters.

Bellatrix sighed and simply pulls him for another kiss unwilling to continue to listen to him prattle on and on. Voldemort, content with the turn of events, lifts her up and unto the table never breaking their kiss. As the kiss grew more and more intense with each turn of head and smack of lips, Bellatrix started gripping his outer-robe and Voldemort knew he had a limited time before she ripped it.

Still deep within the kiss Voldemort makes a gesture towards his wand to try and take off his robe to stand with only his trousers and a shirt. Once he managed to rid himself of the robes, Bellatrix, impatient, takes off his shirt with a force, almost ripping each button off. Voldemort lets her do the work and merely keeps kissing her. Almost impossibly soon he is having to step away from her to take his shirt off. Bellatrix runs her eyes approvingly over his body, it was different, yes, but **_his_** nonetheless… and it was pristine; no scar adorned this body as it had the other, his past and all evidence of it erased with his new rebirth, no more painful memories of a tortured childhood unlived or of an adulthood tainted by misery and greed. It was his, his, his and his. And hers, sometimes.

She pulls him closer with her legs and joined their lips again and ran her hands up and down his shoulders and back while he simply caressed her legs near where her dress ended, near her knees. He wouldn't move up and to where she wanted him. Blasted man. She then grabbed his hand and moved it up her skirt and towards her thigh. He untangled their lips to mumble into her mouth.

"So eager, _ma belle_?" He teased.

"It's been **_weeks_**." She whined.

He laughed in her ear at her neediness and she, rendered madden by his teasing, kissed him arduously so that lips, tongue and teeth mixed in a clash of practised chaos. He surrendered to her desires and started running his fingers up and along her thighs, raking his short nails over her skin, leaving small barely-notable red-welts over her skin. He moved his hand carefully up her thigh but when she bit him, he gripped her thigh a bit too forcefully and she moaned in tune with him.

And then the door crashed open.

Draco, still unaccustomed to having a Dark Lord live with him, entered the room that had been his study room – because of the large windows that gave away to the gardens and all the usual natural light that illuminated the room – and had the shock of his life. He somehow kept himself from yelling bloody murder at the sight but just barely, but he felt that his grey-ish blue eyes were far too wide to be natural.

On the table where he **_studied _**– or used to, he was never going to use this table ever again for anything ever – his aunt sitting atop the table, her skirt up her thighs but otherwise completely dressed – Draco almost got to his knees and prayed thanks to the Gods for that small mercy – and the Dark Lord, naked from the waist up – he was healthier and more human than Draco expected, not that he had imagined or even **_thought _**about it, nononononononono – and his snake-like face on his aunts neck.

"I-i…" Draco tried to talk and tried to move. But he seemed rooted on the spot.

Luckily Bellatrix kickstarted him.

"Hi, Draco."

Voldemort snickers quietly into her covered neck. Draco, the poor boy, would never be able to detect it, but Bellatrix feels it on her skin.

Draco clears his throat and managed, "Hi, Auntie Bella…" Draco speaks slowly as his eyes didn't leave Voldemort's hands under his aunt's dress or his head on her neck, "I'm… glad you're back."

"Sure, sure, sure. Me too, dear. But, uhm…" Bellatrix gestures to her and Voldemort's entangled bodies, "I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"I-I can see that." Draco stumbled through his words, clearly affected by the image.

"Good. I'll see you later, then, Draco." Bellatrix makes shooing gesture with her hands.

"Right. Right." The blond boy repeats himself, still unable to really process what was happening right in front of him. There's knowing (suspecting, hearing rumours) and then there's **_knowing_**, "But-…Uhm, the meeting is about to start."

"We have half-an-hour, still." Bellatrix responds as she turns to look at the clock that hang behind the Dark Lord's chair, and was right in front of her since she was sitting on the table, right in front of his chair, near completely dishevelled, with his hand up her dress gripping her thigh and his face on her neck… Maybe she could give her nephew a break. For the unnecessary image she had planted on his mind. "Draco, honey, it's fine. Go, we'll get ready."

Draco nodded one last time, eyes **_still_** on Voldemort much to Bellatrix annoyance, and seemed to have been struck in the head, as the boy even forgot to bow before leaving the room. Bellatrix expected Voldemort to step away from her and raise his wand towards Draco and **obliviate** him of the situation he had just witnessed. But Voldemort kept himself close to her until Draco left the room.

"Aren't you going to erase his memories?" She asked as soon as they found themselves alone.

Voldemort snorted, "No… Well, maybe. Depends."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes fondly at him, "Thanks for clearing it up."

He sighs, "For now, I see no reason to erase his memories."

"You know he's going to tell Cissa as soon as he leaves that door."

"I know." He answers, and then with sigh says, "It doesn't matter."

Bellatrix nodded. If he thought it was the time for their affair to be confirmed – not become public knowledge, because that ship had sailed long ago – then he'd know best. After all, Abraxas had known, and Cygnus and Lancaster Lestrange had (eventually) known and there had been next to no consequences about it. Maybe Narcissa and Draco knowing wouldn't be the end of the world.

"But," he continues, and warns her, his eyes resolute in his decision, "If they start raising hell about it, there will be consequences."

Bellatrix nods, "I'll tell them. Don't worry." She then raises her hand to briefly touch his cheek, and then whispers, "Thank you. For… letting them know about us."

Voldemort sighs, "You've been alone this whole time, keeping this part of you hidden… It won't do you any good now." Voldemort was counting on Draco spilling himself to his mother, and he was counting on Narcissa, softened by her boy's care for his aunt and her love for her sister, to then watch over Bellatrix during her pregnancy.

She moved to rise from the table, and he looked at her confused, they still had half-an-hour and he was hard. These weeks without her had been hard, no pun intended, mostly because she had left on her own volition so suddenly without leaving him time to prepare himself, while it was usually the other way around.

Either way, he pressed himself further into her.

"Bella…" He whined, now.

"The meeting **_is_** about to start."

"Fuck the meeting, Bellatrix."

He fists his hand into her hair and pulls her mouth to crash into his. She moans, delighted at his aggressiveness, she lets him lead for a while, his hands running up and down her legs, squeezing her tights almost to the point of bruising. He presses himself more into her, and she buried her face in his collarbone, biting everywhere she can get her teeth on and leaving mark after mark on his skin; he winces and moans at a particular hard bite.

She delights in his suffering, "I do have to admit that patience, **_darling_**… is something we're both lacking." Her hands are now close to his pants fiddling with his buttons. When she finally frees his cock, she can feel his sigh of relief on her cleavage where his mouth had been.

"I was wondering when you'd take charge." He mumbles into her cleavage, just loud enough for her to hear. She reaches down to grasp him with her hand and fondle him. He moans, burying his face on her cleavage.

"If I was in charge, we'd be on round two already." She moves her hand up and down just enough to give him a taste of what is about to come, "Because it doesn't look you'll last much longer."

He groans, "It's been **_weeks_**."

"How funny, now that the tables have turned." She tugs his cock a little and his knees buckle, but it's not enough to let him come.

"Shut up and finish what you started." The threat uttered with his panting breath and almost pleading tone made her laugh.

"Now who's eager?"

"Bella…" What might have started as a threat turned into pleading. He might have been embarrassed if it was anyone but her.

She smiled as he finally reached the point she had wanted. The hand still stroking his cock picked up the pace much to his relief, and then she slowly moved the other to caress him in the spot inside his inner thigh that always had him falling apart in her hands. At the first whisper of the touch inside his tight he shivered, and his knees buckled for good. He braced himself against the edge of the table and against her neck as to not crash to ground in pleasure.

"Ah-ah…" the man gasped as he found respite from the fast orgasm he had just experienced, "Remind me to never to let you go away." He leans forward to press their lips in a surprisingly chaste kiss.

She hummed into his lips before releasing them. She then looked down as she felt something poking her thigh.

He was still hard.

"Honestly, this is just bothersome, now."

"I bet you can do something about it."

"I just **_did_**!"

"I don't normally hear you complaining."

"We're not usually delaying a meeting and by extent delaying when we can actually have sex without interruptions."

"Excuses, excuses…"

"You know I'm right."

He chuckles fondly at her genuinely incensed whisper, she can't help but soften at him. She then whispers, "Merlin, I missed you." She knew he didn't mind the occasional show of sentimentality, especially when they were having sex, or **_about_** to, anyways. She joined their lips together.

Then, a noise outside made them slow down their kiss.

"Fuck," he mumbled into her lips, "They're coming."

"Yeah, yeah, seems everyone is coming but me..." Bellatrix groaned out and Voldemort slapped her thigh, "Ow!" She whispered. "Hey! You know I bruise easily."

"Wimp."

She feigned insult, gasping, and then playfully slapping his shoulder before trying to right herself up for the meeting, "Come on, let me up." He pulls her up and off the table, "We'll finish this after the meeting…" She leaned against him, her askew dress pushing her cleavage into his face, and she watched him gulp, unable to take his eyes off her chest, "…We have all night, after all."

"Right." He watched her chest rise and fall; it **_was _**bigger, he could see it now, "All night."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at him. He really was as human as everyone else sometimes. She fixed her dress and he seemed to shake himself of off whatever stupor her chest had put him on. She then turned her wand towards him and redressed him, perfectly, making sure nothing was amiss. And thanks to his unmatched composure (and complexion) he appeared like a Dark Lord about to have a meeting and not someone had been screwed not a couple of centimetres away from where he was sitting right now. That is if one ignored the bulge in his pants.

He cleared his throat, "Right… Right. Take your seat, I'll call them in." He said as he, himself, sat down straighter at the head of the table.

Bellatrix smirked at him before sitting herself a couple seats away from his immediate right. Then he, with a flick of his wrist, opened the previously closed door revealing the people that comprised his Outer Circle of Advisors; Malfoys, Yaxleys, Notts, Rookwoods, Greyback, Carrows, …

As they entered the room many spared a look and even a nod at Bellatrix, and if they were surprised to see her already there and apparently in a private meeting with the Dark Lord, they did not show it. What might have raised a few eyebrows however was the healthy blush on her cheeks and her lightly filled out form, different from a few weeks back when she'd been near skeletal.

Bellatrix watched Narcissa enter the room and then saw her sister roll her eyes as she took in her slightly dishevelled appearance. Bellatrix let a warning glare to come to her eyes, compelling Narcissa to stay quiet about what she knew. Narcissa surely had known of her affair with the Dark Lord, as many did, but even to her sister Bellatrix had never confirmed any details. It had always been a point of contention for them. But now that Draco had walked in on them and surely told his mother, it was a moot point, anyway

Once everyone was seated, Voldemort remained seated much to everyone's surprise. The Dark Lord liked to rise and walk around in the beginning of meetings and they couldn't figure out why today was any different.

Only Narcissa noticed Bellatrix' smirk and the blond woman reached the conclusion that the Dark Lord had… 'something'… to hide around his midsection. Despite herself, and the situation her family found itself in, Narcissa smirked; she had always thought that Bellatrix and the Dark Lord's affair as casual, on his side, at least. Mutual attraction? Sure, Narcissa could see the appeal; her sister was alluring if not beautiful, and the Dark Lord's power, confidence and fame were near aphrodisiacs for even Narcissa never mind Bellatrix. And had she thought that Bellatrix loved him? Yes, of course, it wasn't hard to see that. But had she thought that the Dark Lord was as nearly as under Bellatrix' spell as she was under his? No, that had indeed been a surprise, that he couldn't wait a couple of hours before jumping her black-haired sister.

Narcissa's thoughts of, _'I can exploit this'_¸ would have left Abraxas proud if not for the decided sense of _dejá-vu_.

"We'll start with Yaxley." Voldemort said from his place at the head of the table, "Department of Foreign Affairs, go on."

The sandy-haired man in question rose from his seat to start his report…

**_A few hours later…_**

"Dismissed." He growled, glad to be free of the stifling, never ending blabbering of the rabble of fools he presided over. Sometimes he wondered if all these headaches were worth the trouble. As most of his Inner Circle rose to leave the room, he sneaked a look at this morning's newspaper - full of testimonies of people still reeling over Albus Dumbledore's death - he decided that yes; yes, it was all worth it.

"Bella, stay."

The other Death Eaters didn't even blink an eye anymore, not at the nickname - a privilege that Bellatrix allowed very few to enjoy - nor at her preferred status that Voldemort had for her - a fixture of Death Eater life by now - and left the room leaving the pair alone. As was usual.

"That wasn't very nice." The woman teased as soon as they found themselves alone.

"I'm not a nice man, _ma belle_." He smirked as she rose from her seat and, as she found herself close to him, she lifted herself up to sit atop the table. Her legs, as she sat, brushing the arms of the chair he was on. He had to tilt his head up to look her in the eyes.

"Oh, I **_know_** that, my Lord." Bella smiled down at him, her pearly-white teeth visible through her grin "But projecting images of our...**_better_** times together on this table while I'm unable to **_do_** anything about it… Well, that's just unfair, really, _mon chér_."

"Bella…" He hissed, still unused even after two years of how **_high _**his voice sounded when he raised it above a growl, "You know what I…"

"Oh, I know, darling…" She kept the quiet, intimate tone he had initiated. That name - a name that nobody had ever enjoyed the privilege of using other than Bellatrix - whispered by her, by the woman he couldn't help but give in to more times than he was comfortable with sometimes…Well, from her, the name didn't sound as filthy or as common as it normally did.

She then lifted her hands to caress his proud cheekbones, his neck, the place where his neck and shoulders met… All over his head, really. And he actually **_liked_** it. It had an almost orgasmic feeling to it, especially now that his head was so sensitive to touch. And the paranoiac – downright ridiculous, sometimes – thoughts of her snapping his neck, never even crossed his mind anymore.

As she ran her hands up and down his collarbone, back and shoulders - all covered with a light set of black robes - he was startled by a recurring epiphany. She **_liked_** this new body of his, as much or even more so than his old one. She didn't mind the colder skin - she, who was always too warm, too hot, too**_ human_**, and his cold skin provided a respite; she didn't mind his sinew, lean body no matter how thin it was, although she often **_did_** grumble that he had already been tall enough before and that his new height was just a nuisance; and she really didn't mind how strong and invulnerable this new body was - her fear of losing him (again) was almost all gone.

But if he had to guess, she largely liked his new body because of how intimidating it was; driving away the women that were too brave - or too stupid - to take Bellatrix' unspoken - but very much **_real _**\- claim on him seriously. Because, yes, he could admit it now. She **_did_** have a claim on him, more so than anyone he'd ever met, and while he'd never belong to her the way she belonged to him (she was **_his_**, **_his_**, **_his_**, **_his_**, and **_his _**alone), he was hers in some undefined way.

The stepped out of his musings as she was lifting the sleeves of his robe, and he couldn't help but chuckle. He didn't understand her fascination with his forearms. She lovingly ran the tips of her fingers through his arms, and he couldn't help but tease.

"I still can't believe that **_this_**," he clenched his fists, contracting his forearms in such a way that she couldn't help but hum over, "turns you on."

"They're sexy." She admits, as she had many times before and would do so many times more, "And, really? You have a thing for my **_ears_**."

"Well, they're pretty." He admits much in the same way she had. He lifted his hand to tuck a mech of her black hair behind her ear, leaving it visible. She leaned into his touch as she often did and smiled down at him from the top of the table, her eyes soft and smile mellow as she couldn't help but tease.

"They're **_ears_**…"

"They're **_forearms_**…"

She hummed unconcerned by his sass.

"So," he asked leaning back in his chair and away from her, "You've been away for two weeks… What do you think?"

Bellatrix leapt out of the table and started walking around a little. She liked to be on the move while she processed everything that happened. She was quiet for a few minutes before speaking.

"Well, everyone seems to be in high spirits, that's for sure. With Dumbledore dead, there's one less thing in our way. Yaxley certainly has a point in saying that we should focus on the Ministry now, even if it would be a little…tacky, so soon after Dumbledore's death." She hums as she runs through the spare noteworthy things she had noticed in the meeting, "Greyback's idea of pushing for equal right for werewolves right now is completely convoluted and it'd never work. Not without the ministry on our side and never so suddenly and blatantly."

Voldemort nods, all these things had already passed through his mind.

"And Alecto?" Bellatrix snorts as she mentions the ginger haired woman who was now sleeping with her husband, "Well, despite getting ploughed on the regular, she seems frustrated and ready to start a fight at any moment…" the woman rolls her eyes, "Who knew that some experiences were universal, after all?"

Voldemort shakes his head amused by Bellatrix' inability to **_not_** insult her husband.

"And Rodolphus?" Bellatrix continues, her pace becoming more accelerated, "Gods, the man is a great dueller and a great commander but thicker than a door sometimes. How can we attack Azkaban if it already belongs to us, I mean its completely-..Umph." Voldemort shuts her up with a kiss, unwilling to hear her prattle on and on about Rodolphus Lestrange of all people.

Bellatrix grips him to her, glad that he's finally over being her Lord and is finally just him again. She wanted him, she had missed him terribly while she'd been away with Carmen. And Zabini hadn't helped either, since Carmen had been one of those people that had never needed confirmation of her affair with the Dark Lord and simply spoke of it as if it were the common place. It was one of the things Bellatrix loved about Carmen.

But Carmen, oh, Carmen had always been noisy and liked to cause chaos as much as she liked shopping for a new wedding dress. The black beauty had spent their two weeks together in-between spas, tea time and walks around a country she wasn't a wanted criminal in, speaking of the women Voldemort had been with – which Bellatrix knew hadn't been many – and of the women that wanted to sleep with him – which there were many, even now, Carmen slightly included just to try it once, her words not Bellatrix'.

It had made Bellatrix almost positively green with jealousy, even if she knew he had never (and had never even considered) strayed from her. Bellatrix had been planning to stay away for a month… Two weeks would have to be enough.

Incensed by her thoughts Bellatrix starts making motions to free him of his robes. Voldemort gladly complied and with a flick of his wand, he's (again) left with only his shirt and his trousers. As soon as he is completely free of his robes he untangles their lips and turns her from him, having her facing the long table and away from him. As he starts kissed her down her shoulders while undoing the knots tying her dress, Bellatrix asks a question that had been on her mind for a while, but she had never thought to ask.

"Why do you like me facing away from you?" She asks absentmindedly, although she did want an answer, "You know that the face doesn't bother me…" Then to lighten the mood, "…And my ass is not that great."

"You're right." He agrees not taking stopping his caresses for longer than necessary. He finally free her from her dress and it pool at her feet. She merely steps out of it and with a flick of her hand tosses it aside.

"Ouch," She mocks in self-deprecatingly intones. "But true."

He snorts and speaks low right next her ear, "I like it because I have better access," His tone is lewd, and it sends shivers down her spine, "Because you can't tempt with those grey eyes of yours," He brings her close to him, and she moans at feeling the bulge in his trousers, "Because I **_know _**that with a well-placed thrust I could have come undone in my arms." She clings to the arm that's around her. "And because I can do this." His hand travels up her thigh to caress her wet panties. She groans and moves against him, dipping her spine so he could touch her where she wanted him to, but he was as suborn as her and lieu of giving in, murmurs, "Someone is wet."

"**_Someone _**spent the better part of the meeting making my mind conjure up images of us having sex."

"I do like to multitask." He smirked into her neck.

"Hilarious." She dryly said, even as reached behind her to lovingly run her hand through the back of his neck.

He hums before spinning her around, her squeak filling the space at the unexpected turn, and then by laying her on top the table, her elbows holding her up in a semi-propped up state reminiscent of their first time. They exchanged knowing looks as Voldemort smirked.

"Do not," he said, "I repeat, do **_not_**dare **_not_** touch my head, understand?" He issued an order.

"Yes, Master." She smirked and then rapidly gulped as he went down on his knees.

He started low, and she had to contain herself. She loved it when he was slow but by the Gods it felt her so… needy, for the lack of a better word. But the slow rise and then the consequent fall felt all the sweeter for it. He travelled up along her calf to her knee. The trail was slow and torturous, and Bellatrix shivered both for his caresses and the promise of what was to come. Her toes curled, and her hand – just as he asked – caressed the back of his head and he groaned approvingly.

When his teeth bit a kiss into the skin in her thigh, Bellatrix gasped and raked her nails lightly over his scalp. He rose, planting kisses over her thighs, teasing her endlessly, alternating between her left and her right, leaving her dripping for him. Then, he seemed to finally reach where she needed him most, only to run a single knuckle over her cunt.

"Fuck." She moaned.

"You're so wet."

Bellatrix nodded, unable to answer with anything else. And then, he left her empty and cold and moved hands and his mouth towards her stomach and up, up, up. Bellatrix mewled against his mouth, she been away for weeks and he was teasing her now? She didn't have much time to complain as his lips descended down her to chest, planning open-mouthed kisses on the valley between her breasts before enclosing around the stiff bud of her nipple.

The sudden sensation of heat and wet around her caused her walls to clench and flutter. If there'd been any pressure at all between her legs, she was sure she would've come, but his fingers and his cock were frustratingly out of reach. She tried to bring him closed and encase him within her legs, but he released her nipple with a soft pop.

"Be patient," he warned, "And hold still."

Bellatrix sighed frustrated but nodded and he took that as agreement. He picked up where he'd left off, teasing and tormenting her breasts, occasionally nibbling up to her collarbone for a little variety. It was torture.Bellatrix was balancing on the brink of despair and ecstasy, she moaned and moved, until finally she gave him what she he had wanted since the beginning.

"Please." She murmured.

Voldemort smirked against her.

"Do want me to fuck you?"

Her hips levitated off the table, "Y—yes," she stammered, not even able to speak. He had her on the verge of insanity. But as blissful as it felt, it wasn't quite enough. She wanted his fingers to fuck until the ache inside her was satisfied. She whined and whimpered and writhed against him.

His red eyes, nearly black from lust locked onto her own dazed grey, and Bellatrix nearly lost herself in them. "What do you need, Bella?"

She tilted her hips up, telling with her body what words escaped her. "I need... need you inside..."

Voldemort smirked and slid down, causing Bellatrix whimpered at the first brush his fingers against her cunt. The slightest bit of pressure was enough to make her tremble, and her mouth fell open when two of his fingers entered her. She sobbed when those fingers curled, finding a spot that made her vision flash white. "Come for me, Bella," He commanded her. And when his mouth found her clit, her sobs turned into sharp cries. Bellatrix bucked against him, unable to still under such wonderous torture, so much so, he had to grip her to contain her. And then when he started moving within her, thrusting slow and hard with the flexing muscles of his forearm, Bellatrix vision went black for a couple of seconds.

Bellatrix panted, and shook, unable to still after the ordeal her body had been put through, "Ah, Master." She sighed as he rose and laid himself back on the chair; his cock hard and ready for her.

"Come here." He beckoned. "Your back towards me, _ma belle._"

She nodded and licked her lips. She rose on shaky legs and turned around to sit herself down, slowly on his lap. She groaned as his shaky breath tickled next to her ear; she then moaned as his hand swung around her waist keeping her steady and close to him and as he then rose the other to grasp her breast, her pink nipple between his long, pale fingers; she exhaled and gasped and twitched as his cock entered her sensitive cunt; and she sighed when he started thrusting into her slowly, giving her ample time to adjust to having him inside her again.

Things had been different from the times before Azkaban and Potter. Different, but better, more intimate… more themselves. It was very much like what Narcissa had described her own sex life with Lucius, although to Bellatrix, the Malfoys' marriage seemed passionless (not loveless, no, never that) but so unlike her own passion filled nights and days with him. Despite the differences it was still satisfying and toe-curling; only now it was softer. Gentler, even.

But, perhaps, sometimes, too gentle.

He had stopped moving and was merely resting his head on her back, breathing deeply. Bellatrix bit her lip in an effort to control her laughter. So much for having all night… It had happened a couple of times before, both her and him occasionally falling asleep during sex; after all, they were highly busy people with bizarre schedules that didn't always match. He had sometimes come to bed and she had been too asleep to do anything but let him have his fun while she was partly asleep. Or she, coming home late from some mission or another and him trying his best to stay awake through one of their trysts.

"My Lord?" She called, but he didn't stir, "Master?" she leaned back a little, moving herself and him by extant, since he was still inside her, just enough to wake him but not enough to startle him completely out of sleep.

"Hum?" He hummed, eyes still closed and arms still around her keeping her steady on his lap.

"We should stop." She said, and he groaned displeased by the mere thought. She tried again, "You're too tired."

"Am not." He grumbled. To prove his point he started thrusting, clumsily, sleepily and completely uncoordinatedly. It was making her more uncomfortable than turning her on.

Any other person and she'd ask just what age they thought they were, but as it was, she knew his story and history. She knew of the horrible childhood he had led, and long as it was within reason, she actually enjoyed when he acted this… carefree and yes, childish. It made her feel better, knowing that he felt at ease around her. Even if right now it was causing her an uncomfortable prickle of pain.

"Come now. Stop. It's okay." She said softly careful not to hurt his pride, although she was aware that he wouldn't be particularly embarrassed.

"Fine." He mumbled and stopped thrusting but didn't let up on the embrace they found themselves in.

Some would call it 'cuddling', but she refrained from doing so even in her mind, knowing he'd be angry if he ever caught wind of it – '_Dark Lords don't cuddle, Bella…_' – and then, he'd be annoyed for weeks on end. No, it was better to call it… a prolonged embrace. While naked. After – mid? – sex. Whatever… He was weird sometimes. She had learned to just roll with it.

Carefully, she unlocked their joined bodies with a wince, he **_had_** been hurting her a bit.

"Sorry." He mumbled when he noticed her wince.

"It's fine."

With a flick of her wrist, her wand was in her hands; then, with a few movements of her wand they were both clothed and cleaned of any sweat or fluids. His cock according to his mood was limp, sated from what had already happened despite having had no real release. She leaned back against his chest, and he, in response leaned back further into the chair. They sat there, enjoying each other's presence after spending two weeks apart.

Bellatrix then broke the silence unable to restrain her curiosity at the decision he had taken about their child, "We should probably talk about it now, no?"

He sighed, "If we must…" He then groans as she stays quiet, clearly waiting for him to start. He lays his head atop her shoulder, before starting, "I want it." He was resolute, sure of himself in a way he hadn't been since he'd been back. "I just can't help but think that maybe you don't want it." He confessed.

Bellatrix whispered hotly at him, "Of course I want her!" Enraged that he thought she'd put them through all of this (and the hassle to come) for something she didn't want; something she didn't desire; something she didn't, in some unexplainable way, crave. "If I didn't want her, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

He tensed up, "…Her?" He asked, unaware of that little titbit.

"I-…" Bellatrix stammered, afraid that he'd be completely dissuaded by the child's gender, "I don't know for sure it's a **_her_**, but I do have this… feeling." She tried to explain, "I don't know how else to explain it… But I think it's a she."

He was quiet after that, and he **_still_** wasn't letting her off his lap. She, back still turned towards him, was starting to think he'd fallen asleep again.

He however just had a startling revelation. A girl. They were having a girl. A girl **_person_**. It had seemed abstract until now, the thought of a child. But now… A girl; with her mother's attitude and black hair… A girl; born of the Black and Slytherin dynasty… A girl; bound to be powerful and unparalleled in her blood… A girl; born of the bond he and Bellatrix undoubtedly shared… A girl; who'd dote upon him like all girls did their father…

A girl.

For a split second he wondered if he truly wanted a child.

But **_only_** for a split second…

"You'll need to gain some weight, then. You know that my mo-…" He stopped abruptly, and Bellatrix had to fight to keep her body relaxed. Him talking about his mother always preceded disaster.

The silence that that moment prompted wasn't exactly awkward – their silences never were – but there was an underlining tension beneath it all. She forced her back to stay relaxed as if she hadn't even caught what he had said and he, in turn, cleared his throat awkwardly before speaking again.

"…We should probably hire a healer." He spoke and felt her imperceptibly relax and sigh in his embrace, like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. He then drowsily asked, his fatigue wining out over what just happened, and his eyes closed again as the long day finally caught up with him, "Have you told anyone?"

"Who would I tell?" Bellatrix asks softly making sure not to startle him too much and soothingly running her hands along his arms, "First; we agreed to never actually acknowledge this, despite **_everyone_** knowing about us and **_we_** knowing that **_everyone_** knows. Also because everyone would have to actually acknowledge that you stole one of your best men's wife…"

"To be fair," he hummed, "you weren't exactly his wife…yet."

"Sure, let's go with that…" She dryly commented unable to let the lie pass, she felt his smile on her skin, "Second; really, **_who_**would I tell? Narcissa? My sister goes mad around babies and might actually drop dead… Or Carmen?" Bellatrix actually snorted, "Carmen goes mad about babies too but in the other complete direction of Narcissa…Carmen would start rattling on and on about poison. You know how she is."

He smirked into her shoulder. It was true, too; Carmen Zabini's plans always did involve poison.

"You have other friends." He commented, running circles along her still-flat stomach.

"Nooo…" She drawled the word, "I have other acquaintances; colleagues, really. I honestly think that you're…" Bellatrix stops as the realization hits her. He **_was _**her best-friend, wasn't he? Sure the term was positively childish, but it ran true nonetheless. He was the only she could talk to about anything; no strings, no shame, no judgement… Some sarcastic quips maybe, a few hurtful remarks, but he listened and often gave his thoughts and…Holy hell, he really was her best friend.

"I'm…" He tried to get her to finish her sentence, but she seemed still lost in thought so he tried again, "Bella?"

"Nothing." She shook the thought out of her head, then tilted back to smile at him "It's nothing."

He hummed, clearly unconvinced, but shrugged nonetheless. If she didn't want to tell him, fine, she'd tell him eventually, she always did.

"Let's go to bed." He whispered.

Bellatrix nodded happily, tired from the long day, surprising epiphanies, and the news they'd eventually have to share when the child finally came. He **disapparated** with a crack and left her alone in that meeting place. She ran her hands over top of the dark oak table that had been the site of many of their relationships milestones.

She allowed a small smile to grace her face before she too **disapparated** to their chambers.


	4. Chapter 4

**May 1st, 1998**

"You should stay here." He said, leaning against his chair as soon as their final meeting before the Final Battle was over. She was there, in front of him, in Battle armour, leaning against the dark oak table.

"No. No, I shouldn't." She sighed, "You trained me for this."

"Bella…"

"Tom."

He sighed.

"Delphie needs her mother."

"Delphie needs someone functional. You know that if you go and you don't come back…" She swallows the threat of tears that clog her throat, "…She needs better than what I can give her if you don't come back."

Silence settled around them.

"**_You_** should stay."

"What? Are you insane, Bellatrix? In what world-…"

"You should be the one to stay." She was resolute, "We don't need you. The Inner Circle knows the plan. The soldiers trust us, we can lead them. Greyback, the werewolves. Rookwood, the elite force. Rodolphus, the soldiers. Allucard, the magical creatures. Let us handle it."

"Potter-…"

"I can kill him. I could have killed him many times, but your stubbornness stopped me."

"Bellatrix…" His tone promised pain.

"It's true and you know it." She sighed, "It's nothing to be ashamed of, there is some weird freaky thing happening between you, and everyone knows that. And that connection could costs us everything."

"You never tried to dissuade me from going after him before."

"We never had a daughter before." She smiled sadly, "My priorities are the same as they have always been; first, my family. Then, everything else. You and Delphie are my family now, I must protect you at all costs."

"Bellatrix!"

She knew he didn't like the words she was using. 'Family' was an especially tricky word to get him to accept when it came to him personally. But this might be her last chance to save him, she had to try.

"Fine, so emotional manipulation isn't going to work," she still dialled back a bit, afraid she might lose him completely, "Then listen to logic. You can't kill Potter; your connection won't allow it. Dumbledore is gone; there is no one there that we can't handle on our own."

"There are other powerful wizards, with me there you could cover more ground dispatch more teams. That's very poor logic, Bella, I taught you to argue better than that."

She hesitated momentarily before speaking.

"When you're on the battlefield there's always at least four teams with you just in case something happens." She revealed the secret she had kept for more than 20 years, "With you there, there are at least a dozen tied up personnel."

"What?" His tone was cold as ice, but she was unphased.

"Rookwood and I agreed on it. The leader of the movement should never be alone on the battlefield, there are teams there to extract you if something goes wrong, teams to assist you if you become overwhelmed and just regular long-distance viewers to thrall any threat."

"How long as this been going on?"

"Since the beginning. You're powerful and nearly indestructible but it's war strategy 101: protect the leader."

He snarled at that, angry that it had been done behind his back but aware of the necessity behind it.

"Please listen to me. Just this once don't dive into something you can avoid. No one doubts your strength, your leadership, or your commitment to the cause… We win this, and your reputation is unchanging." She sighs, "But if you die, everything we've worked for dies with you. It happened last time and it will happen again. You are the driving force behind it all, we can't risk you."

Grey on red, as it had been for 25 years. This was it, this was their last moment before everything irrevocably changed.

"Okay."

She dared to hope.

"What?"

"Okay, I'll stay."


End file.
